


Formula Won

by cardinalwrites



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe: Racing, Angst, DCBB, Driver!Dean, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Formula One, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Secret Relationships, Slow Burn, mild swearing, reporter!Cas, secret meetings, which is funny since it’s a fic with fast cars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-01 13:51:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 123,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12706302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinalwrites/pseuds/cardinalwrites
Summary: Of all the places Castiel Novak thought he would take in his career, an internship as a Formula One Paddock Correspondent (or journalist, for short) was most definitely not one of them for a few reasons. One: He had no clue what the hell Formula One was. Two: He knew nothing about sports in general. And Three: He should not fall in love with the people he’s supposed to be asking hard-hitting questions to, least of all the head driver of one of the oldest and most well-renowned teams in the sport’s history.This is a love story told around the world through the eyes of the person that knows the least about where he has found himself in. Come follow a 20-race season finding love in the lost, learning the truth, and figuring out what the hell Formula One is along the way.





	1. Australia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: At the beginning of every chapter after this one will have the current top 10 drivers’ championship standings from the races before, so for example Chapter 2 will have the racing results from the first race and Chapter 3 will have the updated results from the first two races and so on. You’ll learn what those are after chapter 1 but it’s to help you keep up to date with the sport while the story progresses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my lord I have so many people to thank. This fic literally would not exist without any of them.
> 
> Special thanks to the dcbb mods Muse and Jojo for putting on such an amazing and well organized dcbb that a first timer like myself could feel at home and not scared to ask questions that might be very newbie in nature (and thank you for letting me hound you about hurricanes and nervousness).
> 
> MASSIVE thanks to it [justanotherbusyfangirl](https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/12366750/chapters/28129689) for taking on the beta-ing of such a massive fic and for taking the time to weed out my passive voice and late night typos. Her fic is linked here and is beautiful.
> 
> MASSIVE thanks to [dreym](http://www.dreymart.tumblr.com), the absolutely best and most amazing human being and artist a girl could ever ask for, especially with the amount of work you had with challenges, other dcbbs, and all the amazing work and love you put into drawing Dean and Cas and everyone in betwhttp://dreymart.tumblr.com/post/167945539459/and-here-it-is-this-fic-is-about-very-very>here!
> 
> MASSIVE thanks to [adoringjensen](http://www.adoringjensen.tumblr.com) for thinking of the amazing title after I'd asked them what they thought when I'd started thinking about writing this for dcbb
> 
> MASSIVE thanks to all the writers in the discord chat for becoming a family and putting up with me (and LoversAntiquities) ranting, me complaining about being stuck in China for a month, and talking about F1 during the season (so many Hamilton and Vettel jokes lol), but really so much of this fic is because of everyone in the discord chat and their helping me wrangle this behemoth that it became and I could not be happier to call you all my discord fam #panicofthediscord
> 
> Also thanks Res for just being res and always saying hi whenever I log on XD HI RES
> 
> ON THAT NOTE: Some things in reference to this fic will be best explained in both the beginning and end notes for each chapter. Don't know Formula One? Don't worry! All will be explained, but I won't spoil it now so y'all can go ahead and start your engines!
> 
> Much love and much heart,
> 
> [cardinalwrites](http://www.cardinalwrites.tumblr.com)

                                                    

 

“Name,” a bored airline attendant called as he expectantly looked at the baggage the soon-to-be-passenger carried in front of him.

“Castiel Novak,” the man holding the baggage answered evenly. This was just like any other ordinary day at the airport in New York, people bustling this way and that in search of planes that would take them to destinations unimaginable or just to a home that was anywhere except for the Big Apple. To Castiel, though, New York was just where he went to college, his real home being only the baggage he held with him and his annually changing dorm room. But enough of that; this was a fresh start.

“And where will you be flying to, Mr. Novak,” the monotone voice of the man across the counter continued. It didn’t even sound like a question. Castiel figured the guy must have been doing this job for a while now, even if it was the middle of the day.

“Melbourne, Australia. I’m starting an internship job,” Castiel replied anyway. He knew the guy didn’t really care about the second bit, but he was still having trouble believing that part himself. He, Castiel Novak, senior in college, was about to embark as a journalist for one of the fastest sports out there.

Formula One Racing…

Castiel had never even heard of the thing before he got the phone call from some guy in Australia telling him he got the job and to be ready in two days. He doesn’t even know how he managed to be accepted from a pool of what he assumed would be thousands upon thousands of applications. Where would he even start with the sport? Let alone the 20 drivers he’ll take turns interviewing along with their team members. Why the hell was his application picked?

All these questions had rattled around in Castiel’s head since he had ended that phone call.

“You’re all set, Mr. Novak. Let me take your baggage and have a safe flight. Your gate is twenty-four-A,” the man pulled Castiel out of his thoughts before he gave Castiel the ticket that the head of the sport was paying for—the head of the sport being some guy Castiel has never met but is now apparently paying for all of his airfare, food, and hotel lodging, along with the rest of the main media crew. This was going to be the start of crazyville for the next nine months. Castiel thanked the man and turned in his luggage before returning to the main area to one of his closest friends. She stood off to the side of baggage claim, her short brown hair always neat and straight, a testament to her attitude and why Castiel considered her a close friend.

“So, this is it, huh, Castiel?” Hannah gave Castiel’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. It was enough to ground part of the nerves that were beginning to set in. “You’re finally going on this job.”

“Yes, even though I have no idea where to begin with it,” Castiel responded, eyes searching the terminal for anyone with camera equipment. “I’m supposed to meet my senior journalist and cameraman here, but they are nowhere to be found.”

“They might already be at the gate waiting for you,” Hannah fixed the duffle bag that was Castiel’s carry on. “After all, you’ve got a whole day’s worth of flying ahead of you and jet lag when you finally get there.”

Castiel stared at his friend, the one that helped him make the decision to go on this crazy adventure to begin with, because maybe she was right, it might do him some good to finally do something before he finished college. Now, it was all really happening. “I’ll email or text you, but I have a feeling that messages are going to cost me dearly if I’m the one that has to pay for them.”

“I’m sure you’ll get a phone plan that will cover the world, Castiel,” Hannah smiled. “Now, your adventure is waiting. Don’t let me hold you back.” She hugged him tightly, a final goodbye for a while at least.

“Goodbye, Hannah.”

“Goodbye, Castiel,” and just like that, Castiel turned around to pass security onwards to gate 24A. To a new adventure.

“What am I about to get myself into,” he muttered to himself as he quickly found the gate he was searching for, a modest plane waiting in the loading area with several men and some women waiting outside. The gear they were sporting, as well as their shirts, held the name of the network Castiel would be working for, giving him peace of mind that he wasn’t crazy after all and this hadn’t been one giant scam. No, this was the real deal.

“Look who decided to show up! You’re the kid, right?” A gruff voice called to him from where a man sat, glasses face first into a computer and an earpiece on. Somehow, Castiel knew the man was talking to him, so he walked over and stood just beyond the computer monitor.

“Yes, sir. I believe so.”

“Well, we’ve been waiting around long enough and this flight isn’t gonna get any faster. Time to move out everyone!” the man barked to the crewmembers behind him. Castiel remained silent until the man stood up and finally fixed his eyes on the college senior, intimidating despite being shorter than Castiel. “You’re Novak,” he said with a finality, like if Castiel’s name wasn’t Novak, then it was now.

“Yes, sir,” was all Castiel could respond, no doubt with a look of utter confusion as to how to act. This was all very weird.

“Great. Name’s Frank Devereaux. I’m your senior journalist and your boss here. You better be fast on your feet ‘cause you’re gonna need to be. Now, come on.” Frank made his way to the gate entrance, forcing Castiel to keep up with him unless he wanted to risk being left behind.

“It is nice to meet you, Mr. Dever— “

“Don’t do that. It’s Frank. In this business, everyone knows everyone by first names or full names, but my name’s long and this world’s fast.”

“Okay. It’s nice to meet you, Frank.”

“Likewise, but you’ve got cruddy timing, kid. We’ll have to fix that.” They made their way onto the gangway and into the business class of the modestly built plane. It wasn’t a commercial plane, exactly. It was meant to transport equipment and Formula One crewmembers, or at least that was what Castiel gathered from having seen the network’s logo on the wings and the giant Formula One logo on the side.

Once they were inside, Frank set down his laptop and computer before giving Castiel his full attention. “Alright, kid. You better listen quick ‘cause if not then you’re gonna suck as our new face of the network. So, listen, I’m retiring this season because the network and myself both think I’m getting too slow to keep up with the cars and the younger rookies, including some around your age. That’s where you come in.” He jabbed a finger in Castiel’s chest. “You’re gonna be doing most of the talking by the end of this season, you hear? F1 doesn’t stop for nobody.”

Castiel was about to ask what F1 was before he decided against it. His brain quickly supplied that it was a quicker way of saying the name of the sport not too soon after. “Yes, sir,” he said instead.

Frank seemed to take it. “Is that all you know how to say?”

“Sorry, I don’t want to sound impolite.”

Frank scoffed, but dismissed any further inquiries. “First stop’s in Melbourne, which you already know, but it’s the start of the season, meaning we’ve got a full day of press and getting the lay of the land. I suggest you take the next twenty-three hours with your head on a pillow ‘cause it’s the most sleep you’ll get for the next nine months. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Frank eyed Castiel like he expected him to leave. In hindsight, that was probably what he meant, so Castiel thanked him and moved away to where he thought his seat would be. The airplane accommodated overnight flights, each seat with a little legroom and a pillow for comfort. It wasn’t extravagant, but Castiel figured first class looked something better than flying coach or business class. _I wonder who flies first class on a crew plane?_

Castiel quickly found his seat, 401, and moved to place his duffle bag just below it. This would be a long flight indeed, but he planned to make the most of it. He only applied to this position because he was half drunk and wanted to say he’d done something amazing during his senior year at college as a broadcasting major, so being a Formula One—sorry, F1—Paddock Driver Correspondent sounded exactly like what he was looking for…

Okay, what the hell is a paddock?

_Lack of knowledge, that is the problem._

Castiel groaned. He wasn’t gonna last a day.

 

~

 

Castiel could hear the snores from the other crewmembers, the entire plane as quiet as the wind outside while the sun set on one end of the plane’s wings and the moon rose on the other. They were well on their way to Australia by then, but Castiel was no closer to figuring out anything than he had been when the plane finished embarking all passengers and equipment and took off from the airport. Everyone was making use of their 23 hours while Castiel simply sat in his seat with nothing to do.

Sure, he could try to sleep, but insomnia would keep him up anyway, especially with a time like now when he was on the brink of something new. Whenever he was restless, walking almost always was the solution. Guess there was no choice but to walk the plane. At least Castiel could see the different kinds of cameras they were using for the broadcasts.

So, for the next 20 minutes, Castiel walked up and down the business and coach classes, inspecting the equipment amongst the sleeping forms of his now fellow media members. The plane was nearly empty except for the crew and equipment, so maneuvering wasn’t difficult. Some cameras had stickers on them denoting importance, others had drawings and what looked like familial pictures or names. Each of these cameras told just as much of a story as the people that held them for nine months of the year. There was a lot to see, so much so that he felt like he was intruding on someone’s personal life.

Castiel was nearing the edge of the first-class area when he heard it: a sharp humming. He hadn’t seen anyone go into first class when they called for final boarding, though. So… what was making the noise? It put Castiel on edge before he quickly reprimanded himself. _Maybe it was just the producers or more important people, Castiel._ _You were one of the last people they were waiting on, after all._

The humming sounded strangled, however, like someone or something was hurt. A particularly loud one pushed Castiel to cross the curtains that concealed the first-class cabin from those that did not pay premium. Even in the darkness that clung to the plane, Castiel could tell it was nearly empty, save for one seat towards the front of the plane next to the restroom. The source of the whimpers emanated from there.

Castiel moved quietly closer, each footfall as silent as possible in order to not spook whomever it was that sat in the seat. He crept slowly until he was in front of the form of a man most likely around his age with eyes scrunched up and arms strangling the armrests of his seat. Any noticeable detail was shrouded in darkness, but the guy took sharp breaths with every swerve and dip of the plane. He must not like flying.

Castiel didn’t know what spurred him to do it, to sit next to the man that was clearly having a nightmare turned reality, but in the next instant Castiel found himself sitting in the chair beside the man whose features he could barely make out. The other man had shorter hair, though color could not be distinguished in the darkness. The strains on his hands and muscles, however, showed that he had an athletic build and obviously exercised frequently.

Nonetheless, the guy was clearly in pain and it didn’t look like he was going to calm down anytime soon. Castiel might as well nudge his shoulder to let him know there’s someone nex—

“What the FUCK!” the other man bellowed as his arms shot up to grab Castiel’s wrist almost on reflex. Castiel cursed. He had succeeded in freaking the other man out more than he already had been, poking a bear in distress. _Nice one, Novak._

“I’m sorry! I did not mean to disturb you,” Castiel fought to regain blood flow in his wrist while the man seemed to calm down from his outburst quickly. Though Castiel still couldn’t make out his face, he did register the outline of a cap that still, despite all odds, Castiel could tell was an inferno red color. It somehow made the other man’s eyes pop, but Castiel couldn’t discern the color of the eyes at all.

“Jesus, man! I could’ve knocked you out,” Red Hat quickly responded, equally as freaked at the outburst it seemed. “You get off staring and freaking out people like that?”

“N-no, of course not. I just heard your sounds and came to investigate. Excuse me for thinking you were hurt,” Castiel retorted, pain from his wrist fueling his annoyance. This was not a good start.

That seemed to get Red Hat’s attention, however. His head bowed. “Well, thanks for looking out in your own weird way. You can probably tell that I don’t do planes.”

“I’ve noted.”

They stayed silent for a few minutes after, Red Hat staring at the ground and Cas staring at anything but Red Hat. The small sliver of life he could see outside the airplane window showed nothing but black, not even the moon.

“What were you humming?” Castiel whispered. If he was going to be working with this man, then he should at least try to repair their already broken relationship. The last thing Castiel needed was to make enemies all over the world.

The question caught Red Hat off guard. “You mean the song? God, how loud was I?” he sounded suddenly shy. He wasn’t expecting a question. Castiel assumed maybe interviewers just aren’t used to asking questions.

“Not very. Everyone else is asleep, but I assumed you came up here to avoid being heard.”

“You sure know how to make everything sound weird, buddy.”

“You have not answered the question.”

Castiel heard the man sigh. “It’s called ‘Some Kind of Monster.’ Calms me down whenever I do have to fly, which unfortunately is often now that the season’s started.”

“You’ve done this before?”

The man paused for a second, as if considering Castiel’s words. “I’ve been at this for a little while, give or take, but I’m still a rookie at best. That doesn’t mean I’m used to flying.”

“So, you’re new as well then, or at least a little on the new side,” Castiel confirmed. He heard the man laugh, and this time it did not sound as strangled.

“Are you the one everyone was talking about when I got on? The new journalist?”

Castiel felt his face grow hot. Of course, everyone had been talking about him because he had somehow been _late._ “I believe I am guilty of that accord. My name is Castiel.” He extended his hand.

“Welcome to Formula One. Name’s Dean,” Dean shook his hand. For some reason, and despite this man being a stranger, Castiel felt at ease speaking with Dean. If anything, the conversation seemed to be working from both ends, as Dean did not seem to have such a vice grip on the armrests anymore. “So, how long have you been following the sport? Most of us start out young.”

_Shit._

There was no use in lying. If Dean even only had some experience in a business that seemed to span lifetimes, then it would be logical to confide in him. Maybe the guy would take pity on him.

“About a day now,” Castiel answered tentatively.

“What do you mean ‘a day’?” A pause. “You mean to tell me you’re gonna be working and talking about a sport you just heard about _yesterday_ ?” Castiel expected surprise, he expected scorn. What he didn’t expect was an edge of _laughter_. Dean probably thought he was joking.

“Well, for your information, I was not expecting to be accepted when I applied for this thing,” Castiel couldn’t help but throw back in as serious a tone as he could muster. Because damn, Dean’s laugh was somehow infectious.

“Hey, man. I’m not judging you here. It’s just that a lot of us have been at this our whole lives in one way or another, so the fact that you’re about as green as grass is kinda the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.” Castiel could feel Dean’s humor in his voice.

Still, Castiel felt himself let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I am not green. There is nothing on me that denotes any green.”

"It’s an expression, man. But still, you’ll get used to nicknames one way or another. Starting now, Cas.”

Castiel snorted. Okay. “If I last that long.” He paused.

“What do you know? About F1?”

“It seems long and trivial,” Castiel answered truthfully. “You have multiple cars going at extremely fast paces for no reason. How does that better the fans as a sport?”

Dean was silent for a moment. “You really don’t know the culture if you think like that.”

“I know. I should honestly not be here; I know nothing about how any of this works and I do not understand this ‘culture.’” He found himself using air quotes for emphasis. It managed to get a rise out of Dean.

“I can barely see, but did you just use air quotes?”

“Yes,” Castiel pushed forward, all too keenly aware of when Hannah would question him back home about the same move. “Could you teach me? About the sport you seem to love so much, so that I do not look like a total fool?”

Dean laughed at that as well, causing Castiel to smile. “We’re gonna need more than the fifteen hours of flight time left on this death trap for me to tell you everything about F1. The cliff notes, then.” Dean began before Cas could ask what cliff notes were.

“There are ten teams––twenty drivers with two per team. All have stories, all have their own privacy settings, and there are even a few teams that have reserve drivers, or drivers that run the cars in case one of their top two gets hurt or can’t race. That part’s not as common, but it’s still something they do. The sport’s crazy competitive with a lot of technicalities for both the cars and their drivers. There’s rivalries both within teams between the two drivers and between teams in the sport, and the cars are basically powered by mini airplane engines, so when I say they go fast, I mean they go faster.

“There’s a points system for both drivers and the constructors, which is what we call the teams from time to time. The fun part of that, though, is the driver’s championship.” Dean made a point at that, almost as if he knew it first hand. “I’m telling you, Cas, that’s the thing to look out for, and I’m willing to bet it’s also the thing you’ll be reporting on the most. You’ll learn as you go along, but do some research on the drivers and the teams. F1 does testing year-round for the drivers, so where you’ll have nine months in this life, drivers will have eleven. There’s even more traveling apart from that, since some teams are based in Europe and some drivers are on the opposite side of the world, so it’s like seeing the world but only feeling it twenty percent of the time. There’s more secrets than answers and a lot of faces come and go, but this is a new world, Cas. Something not everyone sees is there, but it’s officially been since 1950.” His tone was jovial the entire time. Even if it was a basic introduction, Dean seemed happy to give it. He grew more animated with every phrase or note as he continued, his hands now moving in the air instead of just resting in his lap.

“You sound as if you love the sport.”

Dean laughed, a hearty laugh, one Castiel could get used to hearing. “I kinda have to. It’s the family business, but I love it regardless.”

“What do you think I should look out for, then? What will the fans be most interested in?” Castiel kicked himself for not bringing some kind of notepad, but then again, he wasn’t planning on having a breakdown of what he was supposed to already know in the middle of a plane over the ocean with a guy he’d just met.

Dean seemed to consider his words before answering, a hand pointing to the back of the plane.. “Well, Frank back there always focuses on what he thinks is happening, not what’s actually going on. It’d be a nice change of pace to see the actual facts instead of the conspiracies, you know? I guess I’d say focus on the big three—the top three teams in the sport. Mercedes, Red Bull, and Ferrari.” He counted them on his hand one by one, hands Castiel noted were no longer as jittery.  “They’re the ones with the most money to play, the best cars, and good drivers, but if you ask me it’s Ferrari that’s the one to watch.” Dean chuckled at the end.

The red hat clicked for Castiel, then. Everything Ferrari is that iconic fiery red with the prancing horse. He does know _some_ things. “I assume you are a fan, then.”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Dean almost looked completely relaxed now, shoulders no longer hunched over and arms now comfortably in his lap when he wasn’t speaking.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “We should not play favorites, Dean. Playing favorites is always a bad thing; you can do great harm in seemingly harmless ways.”

Dean paused again, the silhouette of his face turning to look at Castiel straight on. Castiel could just make out the bridge of Dean’s nose and a spray of freckles, but Dean’s entire expression looked like he was shocked. That shock quickly faded into a knowing look that Castiel did not know how to decipher. “I think I’ll manage,” he snickered.

Castiel let it slide. He did not want to get on Dean’s bad side. “Is there anything else I need to know for at least this first race? I do not want to bother you more than I already have.”

“It’s not a bother, Cas. It’s kinda fun actually. Well, at least tell me you know Melbourne’s in Australia.”

“I am aware, Dean.”

Dean laughed. “Good, so Melbourne’s always the start of the season, fresh outta the gate. Everyone’s gonna be hounding the drivers, so give them some air every once in awhile. The usual questions will be how the cars are running, what the track is like, and so on, but that’s where all the focus goes at least for the first race: the cars. Even then, though, the teams love their secrets. You won’t see the cars until they’re out for the first practice sessions.”

“There are practice sessions?”

“Yeah, but you’ll get to that. If I overload you with too much info now, you’ll just want to quit.”

Castiel sighed. “I do not think I could. Frank was very clear that I would be in this for the entire season. The internship guidelines say that as well.”

“College kid then, huh? That reminds me, how’d you even apply to this thing? Why?” Castiel thought it was kind that Dean was taking an interest in getting to know him. It’s the least Castiel could do to tell Dean a little about himself.  

“I found it online towards the middle of the night, and the only thing I knew about my father was that he liked cars. So, I applied, but I was under qualified and did not know anything about the sport. I didn’t think I would get it.”

“So you’re here following in the footsteps of your dad,” Dean’s voice was quieter than the hum of the airplane around them, but Dean seemed to have forgotten that part. Cas knew better than to mention it, thus he continued instead.

“I don’t know. I might be completely wrong about that. It’s not like I’ve ever met my father. I don’t even know if he’s alive.” Castiel didn’t know why he was giving this information. “I am sorry. I did not intend to overload you with information you did not need to hear.”

Dean didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, instead pausing to collect his own thoughts. “It’s fine, no need to apologize. I’m kinda the same, in a way,” he barely whispered. Castiel had to incline his head closer to hear him. “My dad got me into this and I’ve stuck to it even more now after life happened.” Dean didn’t say anything more. Castiel doesn’t prod.

They stayed silent for a while after that, each in his own thoughts before Castiel broke the silence. “You mentioned the rivalry and bad blood some of the teams have. Does it affect the drivers or is it all for show?”

Dean laughed. “Heh, that’s a good interview question for when the cameras are rolling, _Cas_. Getting used to nicknames yet?”

“It is a shortened version of my name, therefore I will allow it.” Castiel couldn’t help but give a small smile.

Dean merely shook his head and continued with a smile on his face. “It’s not all bad, not really. For what the teams and drivers will butt heads about, the fans more than make up for. It’s changing a bit now ‘cause for the first time ever there’s a female driver in the sport. Her name’s Charlie. She’s incredibly easy to get along with, but screw with her and you’ll get an axe to the head. Hell, she’s basically the little sister I never wanted, but you have to forget about that when you’re working.”

Before Castiel could remind Dean about showing favoritism again the plane suddenly jolted, and with it the fear Dean seemed to have forgotten came back at full force. Turbulence is all it was, but it might as well have felt like a tornado with how well the flight and the conversation had been going. Dean’s hand flew to the armrest where Cas had rested his hand after a while, the vice grip now turning Dean’s knuckles white as his eyes screwed shut once more. Castiel had no choice but to hold onto Dean’s hand and the armrest and wait for the turbulence to end.

“Dean…” Castiel tried once the worst of the movement had subsided. “Dean, it’s over now.”

“I forgot I was on a two-ton metal bird,” Dean etched out. “It won’t be over for a while,” his entire body coiled like a spring about to break.

“Talking seemed to help you,” Castiel consoled. “Dean, tell me about Melbourne. Talk this out little by little.” Unconsciously Castiel rubbed his thumb soothingly over where Dean’s hand was still clasped onto it.

After a beat, Dean uncoiled slightly. “It’s known for its storms this time of year, so flying in always has this kind of torture that I try my best to forget. We must be close to landing judging by that. When you do land, though, you get to smell rain mixed with the southern hemisphere and it’s really the only time it feels like the start of something.” Castiel felt Dean begin to relax. “Australian sunsets are something else, too, especially after big storms. The weekend usually has a period of rain at some point, be it in practice, qualifying, or the race itself.”

“There is qualifying as well?”

“Yeah, the cars race and the fastest times get the best positions for the start of the race. Sometimes it’s better than the races themselves.” Dean began to lean back into his chair, his body unfurling limb by limb. It was only then that he seemed to realize his hand was still holding Castiel’s own. “Shit, man. Sorry to kill your hand there,” he retracted it quickly and unceremoniously as he attempted to hide his face. It was a little lighter outside thanks to however many hours had passed with them talking. _Time really did go fast._

“It is alright. It helped you, did it not?”

“Y-yeah, but I kinda sprung it on you. Reflexes sometimes do what they want when you think you’re jumping off a cliff in a plane you can’t control.”

“We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down,” Castiel quoted.

Dean paused to look at him then, to really look at Castiel.

“Dude, did you just quote Vonnegut.?

“I like quotes.”

“Then you’re in the right line of work.”

With the light now working in their favor, Castiel could make out wisps of green in Dean’s sheepish eyes. They’re beautiful even half cloaked in shadow, but they do not stop Castiel from noticing the hints of sleep deprivation. He probably prevented Dean from sleeping at all.

“My apologies, I never let you sleep, Dean. Frank said to make the most of the twenty-three hour flight and I’ve robbed you of almost all of it.” Castiel spoke quickly, “I’ll leave you to your dreams and I look forward to working with you.” He felt his face grow hot, embarrassed he let himself get carried away with the conversation to begin with and cause this mess. Dean was most likely just waiting for Castiel to leave so he could return to what he was doing.

“What? No, wait Cas.” Castiel felt a hand tug at his jacket from behind, forcing him to turn around. “Listen… You’re probably ready to zone out, too. No harm just doing it here.” Though Dean wouldn’t meet Castiel’s eyes completely, Castiel could hear the pleading in Dean’s tone. Dean didn’t want to be left alone to fair the rest of the flight, Castiel knew it. He was happy the somewhat stranger trusted him enough to ask him to stay.

Castiel returned to his seat and Dean let go of his jacket. “Thanks,” Dean mumbled, though it was so quiet Castiel wasn’t sure if he heard it or not.

“You should try to get some sleep,” Castiel said as he checked his watch. They’d left New York 18 hours ago. He had somehow been up for close to 48 hours without sleeping.

“Yeah, you too, Cas. I’ll see you on the ground.” Dean turned to shut the plane window next to him before turning and grabbing what looked like headphones from a backpack that had been under him.

They spent the next five hours attempting to sleep, Dean soon out with Cas not too far behind. Castiel slept well for the first time in weeks.

 

~

 

“NOVAK!”

Castiel felt himself unceremoniously shoved by a body. Dean?

“Novak, I swear to God if you don’t get up now I will leave you on this plane and see you in Bahrain.” Nope, definitely not Dean…

“Frank?” Castiel rubbed his eyes open until he found himself staring at a very, _very,_ pissed off senior journalist. Dean was nowhere to be seen.

“Sleeping Beauty makes an appearance! Yes, Novak. You weren’t in your seat and we thought you’d disembarked already. When you weren’t in the media room I had to come back to find you asleep in first class where you shouldn’t be to begin with. We’re late for opening practice sessions now, so get off your butt and _move_.” Frank didn’t hesitate on a single syllable before he turned and made his way to exit the plane, no doubt expecting Castiel to follow. Castiel all but scrambled to his feet before he noticed something still in the seat next to him.

They looked well-worn in, but well cared for. On the seat of the chair where Dean had been previously was a pair of noise cancelling headphones and a note. Castiel picked up the headphones before inspecting the note.

 

**Figured you’re need some form of headgear if you’re gonna work in this sport unless you don’t want to hear ever again.**

**-D**

 

Castiel smiled despite himself and went to inspect the headphones. He hadn’t been expecting a gift like this, let alone from a man he’d assumed would be manning a camera or a fellow journalist, but it was the thought that counted. Why would he do this? As Castiel had noticed initially, the headphones were well-worn and most likely a few years old at least. They were standard black and still seemed to work tremendously well despite that. On the inside of one of the buds that went over the ear was a small piece of writing, _DW_ from the looks of it, though it was so faded Castiel could only guess that’s what was written on there to begin with. Maybe it was _DV_ or _CW._ Regardless, Castiel put them around his neck and moved to grab his stuff. Frank was going to have his head.

 

Check-in at such a high-speed event was actually rather tedious, but by the time Castiel got to the track with a very annoyed Frank, it looked like the majority of traffic had already passed through. They were still a little more than three miles out when Castiel first heard the cars. He made a mental note to thank Dean for the headphones he obviously had not thought about when he took the job. _The cars are basically powered by mini airplane engines, so when I say they go fast I mean they go faster._

Of course “faster” equated to breaking the sound barrier.

“You made me miss opening practice, but we’ve still got time to get you set up to talk to the drivers before they hit Practice Two,” Frank instructed as he flashed his badge to security and made sure Castiel received his own. It was red to denote journalists and network members, designed to get him through every door on the circuit. There were cameras everywhere covering everything from the giant track that was the Albert Park Circuit to the birds bathing in the lake that was at the track’s center. Honestly, it could all be easily overwhelming, but people made do seemingly well.

Castiel zipped by people running from one place to another, cars drifting down the track and testing turns, and even more reports and crew hounding what looked to be officials about rules and regulations over the latest practice session. All the cars were almost entirely covered up, security on each end watching the reporters like sharks do schools of fish. It looked like what Dean said about secrecy was completely, 100% true. And if Dean hadn’t told Castiel anything, he’d have no idea there were even practice sessions, though from the looks of it there seemed to be more than one, and two sessions apparently were done on the same day for this round.

“Novak, are you with me?” Frank snapped Castiel out of his thoughts. “What I was saying is that you need to be fitted with your mic and earpiece in order to talk to the drivers. Since you’re late you’ll only talk to one, but tomorrow’s a full day so you better get your head out of your ass and come here _on time_.” Frank threw a microphone in Castiel’s hand that was embezzled with the network F1 logos. “Now come on, time to head to the press ring where you’ll be standing. Just follow what I say and do what I do.” Frank moved quickly then, cutting through people with the expertise of only someone that had been doing it for a long time. Castiel was almost envious, but he was determined to learn quickly how to get from one place to another in a crowded area behind buses and crews worth of people.

The area they walked through had every color imaginable: flashes of red, silver, black, and blue decorating different teams and members alike. Some of the buildings sported team logos and marks, including the three Dean had told him about. Ferrari was the same stark red that Dean’s hat had been. Mercedes was silver, and Red Bull carried the blue and red colors indicative of the sports drink of the same name.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all colors here, kid. Get used to rainbow vomit at the paddock,” Frank called over the side of his shoulder.

So, _this_ was a paddock, the place where all the drivers, teams, and crew used as a home-base. It sure was bigger than Castiel thought it was going to be. Frank made it to a gated area towards the center of the mayhem before directing Castiel to a separate area already crowded with fellow reporters and journalists. Castiel recognized some cameramen from the plane ride, but none of them looked like Dean. Where was he? Was he a cameraman or reporter towards the center of the area? They all had their backs turned to Castiel, attentions focused to the center of the rectangle that fences were keeping them out of. Castiel assumed only the drivers were allowed in there when they gave press rounds. Maybe Dean was giving an interview.

Frank confirmed his assumptions. “After every race and session all drivers come here to talk about the car and how they feel looking forward to Sunday’s race in two days. Fridays like today are usually pretty somber, however, so questions reflect that. Here,” Frank handed Castiel a bright yellow notepad with questions already written down. “Keep track of what we ask and what others ask so we get no repeats. Theories start forming when drivers say something different to what’s already recorded.”

 _Guess Frank really did like his conspiracies_ , Castiel thought. He looked through the list of questions before he heard Frank say there was a spot open and an important driver was about to come out. Castiel picked up the pen attached to the notepad, prepared to jot down whatever the hell it was he was supposed to write. Maybe Dean was interviewing other people. Half the stuff on the pad already made no sense, talking about tires and weather conditions. Some already had answers scribbled down, but he’d already made up his mind that he was not going to sleep tonight in order to learn as much as he could about this damn sport. _I got this…_

“Alright, guys! Get those cameras in position!” Frank barked before his tone shifted completely. “Hey Winchester! How are you doing today?” He called in a singsong voice. Talk about a turnaround compared to how he had been acting around Cas.

“I’m good, Frank. Heard your snoring all the way in first class,” a voice responded. It caught Castiel’s attention. That voice was too familiar.

Castiel looked up to find none other than Dean standing before him, now completely decked out in what looked like a racing uniform that blazed red.

Dean wasn’t giving an interview. He was doing one. He was on the Ferrari team. He was one of their _drivers_.

Castiel had spent the majority of the last few hours talking to one of the best rookie drivers in the sport, and he’d basically told Dean he knew zero about it and thought it was all made up.

_I don’t got this…_

Dean locked eyes with him almost instantly and gave him a small smile, almost as if he were silently communicating _Surprise! Sorry I didn’t exactly say who I was._ Castiel couldn’t figure out what to say, but he registered what Frank was talking about to Dean.

Frank asked Dean weird questions about the car, about something called a kinetic system, the quality of the tires, and so on, and Dean was all smiles as the camera was trained on him. For his part, however, Dean’s eyes were watching Castiel the entire time instead of looking at Frank or the camera. Castiel felt like he was being asked to not say anything about how they knew each other. Maybe that’s what Dean was trying to tell him. How would he know what he was trying to tell him? Maybe he just wanted his headphones back.

Frank followed Dean’s line of sight and took it as a perfect segue, however. Dean hadn’t exactly been subtle in where he was looking.. “Looks like you found the new recruit, huh? Well, folks out there and to Gabriel and the commentators up in the booth, as you know this is going to be my final season being your paddock correspondent. Because of that we’ve hired some young blood that’s just about to start flying his own wings. I’ll give him the final question, so to everyone out there, here’s Castiel Novak, our senior intern.” Frank signaled for Castiel to move next to Frank as the camera now trained its lens on him. _Okay, so we’re not going to be eased into this. On air on the first day…_

“Y-yes. Hello,” Castiel moved to work his audio before turning from the camera back to Dean, who all the while looked like he was trying to hold a laugh in. “Hello, Dean…Winchester.” Castiel wasn’t sure if first names were okay or not.

“Hey, Castiel…Novak,” Dean teased him in the same hesitant voice Castiel had used. “Call me Dean.” He gave Castiel a smile. “So, I hear you got a question for me.”

“Y-yes I do. Uh…” Great. Castiel barely knows what the fuck is going on and didn’t understand half of what Frank had been asking Dean earlier. He fidgeted with the headphones around his neck when he thought of a question, a perfect one for Dean considering what he’d said on the plane. “Frank talked to you a lot about the car and the race, but how prepared physically and mentally are you for the start of the season?” So maybe it wasn’t the best question, considering how tight Dean’s racing suit was and that it left _nothing_ to the imagination in physicality, but it was the best he had. Castiel could feel Frank eyeing him from beside the camera.  

Dean’s eyes had followed Castiel’s hand to his headphones, knowing exactly how Castiel thought of the question. He took it in stride. “Well, we’ve had winter testing leading up to getting the car ready, and I spent summer in simulators getting the lay of the land for these tracks. So I’d say that I’m in a good head space right now and looking forward to Qualifying and the race this weekend. We’ve been in the gym to get our necks well and ready to sustain force, but most of all,” Dean makes a move to poke at the headphones around Castiel’s neck, “our ears are one of the most important training elements. Gotta keep those things protected.” He tapped them again, causing Castiel to all but blush. Why the hell was he blushing? Dean saw his headphones. He probably wanted them back or he was telling Castiel to put them on. Either way, Dean was toying with him.

The camera turned to Frank then, who quickly threw it back to the commentators in the booth before the camera shut off and Dean was being ushered away to another interview. Before he could fully leave, however, he turned back to Castiel with his arms half in the air in a “Surprise?” sort of way, his momentum slowing to try to talk to Castiel. By then, Frank and the crew had disappeared, off to the next interview. Things really did move fast around here; seconds become hours if you can’t catch up.

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” was all Castiel could ask, his face somewhat recovered.

“Hey, in my defense you didn’t ask, and let’s be honest, would you have known who I was if I said my full name?”

“… That is beside the point, Dean.”

“So I’m right aren’t I?” Dean grinned. This must be some personal victory for him, but Castiel couldn’t bring it on himself to be mad. He did have some bridges to mend, though.

“I’m sorry about what I said on the plane, about not knowing about the sport and making it sound less impressive or important than it is,” Castiel began. He felt like he needed to apologize, but Dean waved him off.

“It’s nothing, Cas. Really, what matters is that you listened.” Dean indicated the headphones then. “Keep them, by the way. I was serious about protecting your ears.”

“Dean, we have the telemetry of the car in pit lane if you want to see it,” a woman said as she came up to them as equally clad in red as Dean was. She eyed Castiel oddly, as if he was the one that should not be here. Maybe she was right to assume that.

“Gotta go, Cas, but I’ll see you around,” Dean said as the woman whispered something into his ear. That’s when Castiel realized it must look like a reporter wanting to know more information about the team without a representative present. Even without knowing anything about the sport Castiel knew that it looked bad, but Dean and he were friends, right? Or at least almost friends?

“Good luck, Dean.” Castiel said before a hand grabbed onto his shoulder and spun him around. It was Frank.

“Don’t go wishing drivers good luck unless you plan on doing that to everyone, Novak. You can’t be playing favorites. Now, come on. You’re going to watch the next practice and learn a thing or two about how to ask the right questions.”

Castiel merely shrugged and smiled to himself. That’s exactly what he’d told Dean on the plane and it turns out he was the one getting reprimanded for doing it. He had a lot to learn.

 

~

 

The second practice session went what Frank called “uneventfully,” but to Castiel it was a first-hand experience as to just how incredible these cars were. Gone were the tarps that covered them, in their place where futuristic hybrids, low and wide while also breaking speeds of over 230 mph. Lap times were within one and a half minutes every time the cars rolled around the 3.3-mile track and back again. Before you knew it, the same cars were back to where they were, and Castiel had a front row seat just above them all. He also learned about other drivers while he was there when Frank was not hounding about questions. Dean was the senior driver of Ferrari, but his little brother Sam was also on the same team. Both are technically still considered rookies, but not new to the sport. Both are also Winchesters, which is why more than anything the commentator Gabriel would refer to them by their first names, otherwise it would just be “Winchester rounds the fourth corner, meanwhile Winchester is going for a personal best.” It’s obvious how confusing it would be.

So, Ferrari had Sam and Dean Winchester, Red Bull had Michael Seraph and Lucifer Morningstar, and Mercedes had Crowley MacLeod and Metatron Marvin. Dean’s friend Charlie Bradbury (which, now Castiel understood why they are friends) is on a team called Toro Rosso along with Kevin Tran. Everyone except for Dean, Sam, and Charlie were from different countries. How the hell was Cas going to keep track of everyone?

_You have twenty races to figure it all out. For now, focus on the big three and work your way out._

It was enough to get Castiel’s mind out of the spiraling pit of nerves and sit back and watch the multicolored cars race below him. He could now see the appeal of the sport, how fast and winding every turn looked, the elevations changing. Melbourne was humid, and rain was in the forecast for the next day’s Qualifying race, something the on-air commentator Gabriel never stopped reminding them of.

Castiel paused to consider the man on the screens that would be speaking with him. Gabriel seemed eager for this sport and had an ever-present array of sweets in a bowl just off screen. Frank said the guy is beyond crazy and would mess with you if he thinks he can get away with it. Castiel made a mental note to not be alone with Gabriel if he could help it.

The practice session ended after two and a half hours of testing for all teams, something Castiel learned to be the staple. There were three practice sessions, but since they weren’t as broadly televised (only for the hardcore fans), the journalists weren’t usually required to sit through all three, just the final one right before Qualifying. _There’s nothing like biting off more than you can chew, and then chewing it anyway._

“We’ll be meeting in the hotel lobby bright and early, and this time I will _not_ wait for you, Novak,” Frank told him as the practice session ended. The crewmembers were making their way to the local hotel where they were staying for the duration of the weekend. Castiel got his own room while Frank was one floor down and away. He acknowledged Frank’s ultimatum before they separated for the night, Castiel retiring to his room. The night was young and there was much to learn. Castiel wouldn’t have slept anyway; insomnia is very real.

Instead, he pulled his laptop onto the desk of the small room, put on Dean’s—his––noise cancelling headphones, and began to research everything he could about drivers, the race, and the unknown Qualifying session, making sure to place an alarm for early in the morning in the event that Castiel somehow did end up falling asleep.

Castiel learned everything about the different drivers, their teams, and especially Qualifying, a day where everyone would give it their all to determine the starting positions for the race the following day. Qualifying was where cars were at their fastest because they were racing for the best time. The winner would get pole position, otherwise known as the first space when starting the race. In some circuits, that’s all it took to guarantee the entire race.

Castiel did ultimately fall asleep, but when his alarm went off the following morning and he woke up with pains from having slept wrong, he felt much more at ease with the entire situation than he had the day before. After his night of research, he had at least a little knowledge about the sport. He knew just enough of what to look out for; the rest he’d learn along the way.

It was time to start the season.

 

~

 

As expected, Qualifying day was nonstop coverage, but Castiel was prepared. He met with Frank early and they both made their way to the track. From that point, Castiel did his job almost expertly, quickly asking questions to drivers that Frank had forgotten, providing input to Gabriel up in the commentating booth (receiving a few quips from Gabriel about Castiel being like a little brother as a result), and getting testimonials from the crew about the race and the start of the year. He learned his way around pit lane almost expertly fast, gelling nicely with the people he spoke to and quickly earning his stripes. It was all going well until he got to Dean.

It had been just after the Qualifying session had ended in buckets of rain, Sam Winchester having taken pole position in 1st and Dean ending in 3rd. Ferrari was shaping up well for the season, but when Castiel found Dean in the rectangular media circle they had met at previously, he found his nerves getting the better of him. Why that was, he never figured out. Maybe it was the rain that continued to pour on them, their only comfort the tent that had been erected so that no driver or equipment got wet.

“So, wet Qualifying, huh?” Castiel began. Dean had looked at him before deciding this was Castiel trying to be funny.

“Yeah, it was pouring out there. I’m soaked through as you can tell,” Dean looked at him pointedly. After Castiel didn’t respond Dean took the initiative. “So, got a question?”

_Shit. I didn’t say anything._

“With Ferrari getting the front and second rows, how well do you think you will stand up with your brother?” Castiel attempted to recover.

“You mean stand against?” Dean supplied. Castiel cursed himself.

“Yes,” he answered aloud. He could feel the daggers Frank was sending him.

Dean, for his part, didn’t seem to mind the awkward delivery of the question. “Well, sibling rivalry has always been a strong thing between us, but we’re both good drivers with great cars and an incredible team. That doesn’t mean we won’t be racing each other to see who gets first, though.” It all sounded practice, rehearsed, a million times better than how Castiel currently felt.

He had time for another question. “And what of your reserve driver, Aaron? He did not have any sessions in the cars today,” Castiel felt like he was visibly shaken, feeling as if he was about to be exposed as a fraud. Something about interviewing Dean threw him off entirely; he didn’t know how to act or what to say.

Dean just stared at him for a second. “You mean Adam? Adam Milligan?”

 _Shit_. Castiel had called the reserve driver by the wrong name.

“Well, he won’t be racing this race because he didn’t get practice time in, like you said.” It was obvious Dean was trying to help him get past stupid questions without calling Castiel out on the blunder. For what felt like the tenth time that weekend Castiel found himself apologizing silently to Dean.  “Got your ears on tight enough? Don’t think I heard you well enough over the sound of the cars and the crowd.” Dean made a point to signal headphones that were once again around Castiel’s neck. He was trying to liven up the mood of everyone around him, all eyes having turned to Castiel.

Castiel didn’t get to ask him anything else after that, the commentators deciding that Dean had had enough screen time with the program ending. He didn’t get to talk to Dean by himself afterward, either. Both were ushered away, Dean to the main interviewing panel press conference and Castiel to a very annoyed looking Frank.

“Everyone gets a deer in the headlights moment, but you’ve been at this all day today, Novak. What happened?”

“I, uh. I guess I was tired,” Castiel answered lamely. Frank ticked at him, but said nothing more. Maybe he took pity on Castiel. Then again, Frank wasn’t the type to take pity.

“Well, get some rest or something. The biggest day’s tomorrow. We’ve got celebrities coming and more interviews to make sure we get for the network. So do us a favor and eat something, look over _names_ one more time, and try to sleep, Mr. Insomnia.”

“I will, Frank,” Castiel did not want to give Frank more firepower, therefore he accepted the lecture and went about his business.

The next day, Sunday, would be the biggest of them all.

It was race day.

 

~

 

If Castiel thought Qualifying was the pinnacle of how crazy the racing world could be, the actual race day was an entirely different planet of crazy. Castiel found himself running around, disappearing and reappearing whenever Frank needed him like he could teleport. _The speed of the leader is the speed of the gang._ Celebrities and drivers were everywhere, each gearing up for the race that would be underway soon. This was Melbourne, the start of mayhem, and the first race of 20 over the course of the next nine months.

Castiel had all the strength and poise of a soldier on the front lines, eyes rapt for movement of familiar faces in a sea of every color imaginable that decorated the start/finish straight, the place where the race would start and the same place where the checkered flag would signal the race’s end.

Journalists and celebrities alike dotted around the drivers, asking about how they felt and how they thought the race would turn out. There was no rain in the forecast this time, but Castiel still felt something he couldn’t quite place. Apprehension? Anxiety? Something wasn’t sitting well with him, but he pushed it out of his mind when an overhead voice called for all non-personnel to begin clearing the track. One by one, the drivers made their way to their cars to start the lap of reconnaissance. Everyone else had exactly one minute before the cars would come around again to start in the positions they’d placed in during Qualifying.

Castiel was swept away in the crowd that was exiting the start-finish straight, all taking one last look or picture with the fantastic cars in the distance behind them. He looked back for a brief moment and spotted Sam and Dean’s cars as they both set off on the lap of reconnaissance that they did before every race. The bright red made a stark contrast with the rest of the track and other Formula One cars around them. These weren’t normal vehicles. They were living, prowling machines with roars in their engines. The mere revs they shouted made Castiel’s hair stand on end.

There was a very real chance these machines could hurt someone if the drivers didn’t handle them well. For the first time in the entire weekend, Castiel saw the danger that came with the sport, but he could not dwell on that further when the cars had come around and positioned themselves on the grid painted on the ground, this time devoid of anyone else on track.

“Alright, kid. While the race is going on I want you watching and calling out cars. It’s the fastest way to familiarize yourself with numbers and helmets. The team cars are near identical, but drivers’ helmets and numbers are unique. We’ll be giving commentary along with Gabriel from time to time, so try to not screw this up.” Frank didn’t draw a breath during his entire speech, heading upstairs to where the paddock overlooked pit lane and the start finish straight.

"We won’t be sitting here the entire race, will we?” Castiel meant for the thought to be to himself, but Frank had the hearing of the gods.

“Of course not. The drivers will stop in the pit lane to change tires or maybe even retire from the race if fate has a hand in it. I’m gonna be making you run there to talk to crew on the wall if the need arises. Other than that, you don’t move unless I say so, you hear?” Frank gave him a stare that could rival even Naomi’s back home, but Castiel didn’t want to dwell on that particular thought. He agreed before he heard Gabriel’s voice on the television screen signaling it was time for the lights to go out.

Like Nascar or other racing programs, there was a lights countdown that would kick off the race. A stoplight-looking monitor would count down red dots until all 5 of the spots turned red; when they all shut off, it was go time.

Every red light felt like a millennia, each car roaring to life in apprehension of kickoff. As each light went on one by one, the entire stands of fans seemed to fade away into the quiet. It was a timeless moment.

Then, like the crack of a whip, all lights turned off.

“AAAAAND LIGHTS OUT FOR THE START OF THE SEASON!” Gabriel’s booming voice echoed on the TV monitors as Castiel heard the deafening roar of the cars zoom away from where they had been. Within seconds they were but blips in the distance, a mass of metal and a thunder of machines plowing through a battle.

“And both Winchesters are off to excellent starts right out of the gate as they line up to battle! There’s Charlie Bradbury just behind them fighting with Lucifer Morningstar and Crowley. Oh, look at Balthazar in the middle of the pack fighting with Harvelle’s own Ash as they duke it out to get on the inside curve for the first turn. Dean Winchester on the inside while Kevin Tran tries his best to not get into the gravel! And Sam takes the lead into the second corner. It’s still neck and neck with Gadreel and Benny who’re now fighting to overtake Samandriel in front of them. Dean is now in fourth trying to catch back up to Charlie while Metatron puts pressure on and Michael is not far behind them. Good games, man! This is madness going into turn three!” Gabriel sounded like an auctioneer rattling off names and prices, his speed rivaling the Formula One cars as they maneuvered and ran through the track. The excited atmosphere was palpable as Castiel watched with rapt attention, his eyes never leaving whichever car was on screen.

“The pack is starting to even out with faster cars taking the better game and Sam Winchester is well in the lead while Charlie and Dean battle it out for second. This is a starter for the ages, ladies and gentlemen! Red and blue fight it out as Ferrari and Red Bull push to see who’s got the better balls, and it looks like it’s Charlie as she manages to get on the inside of Dean Winchester’s car to take the silver for now! They’re within milliseconds of each other!”

On and on it went with Gabriel giving steadfast information on who everyone was and where they were in the race. Castiel now understood the importance of knowing helmets and numbers. It was all you could do to catch numbers and colors  in the blur of how fast these cars were going, if barely at that. He relied on the high-speed cameras more than he did his eyes. Dean’s helmet was as red as the car he drove, but Sam’s helmet was a nice sky blue with yellow accents. There were 57 laps in this particular race, all more exciting and difficult than the last, but it was only just beginning.

Castiel found himself unbothered for a while as he watched the cars and listened to their engines. Not even noise-cancelling headphones could block it all out, but Castiel didn’t want them to. This was adrenaline in frequency, a thrill coming from being so near something that garnered that much speed. Every car was expertly driven by its handler. With that last thought, the feeling Castiel had before the race began returned with a vengeance.

The race continued in very much the same fashion that it started in adrenaline induced speed, but slowly, expert drivers began to make human mistakes. One driver retired from one of the smaller teams due to engine trouble, and another crashed into the gravel after his brakes locked up. Both drivers were fine, but it did little to alleviate Castiel’s mind.

He found that he was kept busy once cars started getting into pit lane to change tires. Surely it would change how quickly the race was running if they had to stop to change all four tires...

He was more than shocked when all four tires were changed within three seconds, courtesy of the very efficient pit crew. Time was everything in a race, especially when it took about twenty seconds for cars to get in and out of pit lane where their speeds were reduced for safety reasons. Even then, though, these cars are still going 50 mph, enough to injure someone deeply if they were in the wrong place at the right time. Everything was a perfectly balanced system, and in it the players were the pieces.

After his latest run to the pits, Castiel returned to the media center in the paddock to find replays of the start on the screens as the action died down for a few precious seconds. Gabriel was yammering on about good starts and how Ferrari and Mercedes were neck and neck, Sam still in the lead with Dean and Metatron not far behind. They were around the 54th lap when it happened, right towards the end of the race.

Gabriel had been commentating about a battle at the back end of the race before the camera panned to a very red, very _wrecked_ Formula One car on the side of the barricade, debris and smoke still flying and another car not too far away in equally as bad a shape. It took a second before Castiel felt his heart give out when he recognized the number and helmet.

The red car was Dean’s.

 

~

 

Castiel didn’t hear Gabriel talking about a safety car being deployed. He didn’t hear about how Metatron and Dean had crashed, Metatron’s car having flipped over and landed right once again, Dean’s having skidded straight into the gravel and then front-first into the barricade. Castiel didn’t hear how Dean had managed to get out of the car seemingly unscathed. He hadn’t heard any of that because his feet hit the ground running out of the paddock and onto the track side towards the turn where Dean had crashed. These were the definition of high speed crashes, and Dean had just suffered a massive one that totaled the car.

The crash was nearly on the other side of the track, but despite that Castiel found himself there quickly, the first journalist to arrive at the scene before even the medical car had made it over to treat Metatron. It had already been blocked off so fans could not crowd around the exit route, but Castiel’s badge allowed him access to get inside to where the drivers were waiting by the destroyed airplane engines that were their cars, Dean sitting down next to his car as the dust began to settle. There were no cars on the track anymore, all having been collected by the safety car due to a red flag calling for the race to stop. They did not want to risk any more crashes due to the debris in the way.

Dean seemed to see Castiel running, but since Castiel found himself with both the microphone he’d been given in his hand and the fact that he was a journalist with others following not far behind, it probably didn’t look like Cas was there to ask if he was okay. _Dean must think I’m just here to get a scoop on what happened. Isn’t that what I’m here for, though?_ He felt his face tilt at the question he posed himself. _We may have just barely met, but at least check to see if they’re okay first before your job._ _That is just human kindness._

Dean probably didn’t see it that way.

Inner turmoil aside, Castiel was stopped just before he could get to Dean to ask him anything, other reporters soon gathering around him. Even in the crowd and with his helmet on, Castiel could’ve sworn that Dean was looking straight at him. He saw Dean give a slight shake before the medical team arrived and whisked both Dean and Metatron away for treatment. With no drivers to give a story, the journalists retreated to the media center to finish watching the race, which resumed after the rest of the debris had been cleared off the track in record time. Only Castiel remained on the side of the track, standing in shock at the rubble that was the remains of the Ferrari Formula One car. There was no fire, but the wreck told the entire story. This was the fastest motor sports race in the world and how it could go all wrong in a matter of seconds. From what Castiel could tell, Dean seemed okay proven mostly by the fact that he was walking. Metatron looked like he was limping when he got out of the car but otherwise showed no injuries. It was a Goddamn miracle they both were still standing after that crash.

The thought sent chills down Castiel’s spine, but he finally found himself numbly walking back just in time to catch the results of the race. Neither Dean nor Metatron finished after their cars had been totaled, but Sam ended up winning the race. Charlie came in second and Lucifer in third.

Castiel made it back to watch the presentation of the awards and the celebrity commentator giving podium interviews to Sam, Charlie, and Lucifer. Usually, the podium interviews were outside in front of all the fans, though the exact location changed from race to race. The interviewer asked Sam about Dean, but all Sam could say was that Dean was okay and that seeing him was Sam’s next stop. There was nothing said on just how “okay” Dean was.

“NOVAK!” A booming voice called over the media center once Castiel had returned. Castiel cursed. Frank. “How dare you go off and leave us without any audio!” It didn’t sound like a question, more like a tirade. “We lost great reaction footage because of you!”

Frank continued to lecture Castiel, but he wasn’t listening, he was concerned about Dean. Sue him if he wanted to go see if the driver was okay over getting some sound from a few celebrities talking about a crash that could’ve resulted in death. And Dean had _seen_ him there, right? Maybe Castiel was just overthinking it. Maybe all Dean had seen was just a crowd of faces that was understandably concerned and wanted the scoop. Castiel was only just an intern; a “green” journalist. He needed to work, not take off when something good for the media happened. “I am sorry, Frank. I thought I could get a first-hand report from the drivers.” He lied.

“Of course they’re not gonna do that!” Frank continued his tirade. “Nine times out of ten the drivers don’t even know what happened yet! They need to be cleared with the medical team before they can talk to their reps and only then will they issue a statement on the accident. That’s basic protocol here!” Castiel winced. How was he supposed to have known that?

Frank saw Castiel’s reaction, which caused him to soften. “Look, I get it. It was your first crash accident. Maybe your head got a little ahead of itself, but think before you act next time. You’re on cord duty for next race as punishment.” He patted Castiel on the back. “Listen, there are gonna be parties and events after this to celebrate the winners and the start of the season. Go back to the hotel for a bit to cool off and I’ll see you at one of them after. I’ll handle the rest from here.” Okay, so maybe Frank did have a soft side.

“Yes, Frank,” was all Castiel could answer. The adrenaline from the fear was starting to subside and he felt himself getting tired, but even if he went back to his room to sleep Castiel knew he wouldn’t be able to. Still, he knew it was best to retire for now. Castiel found himself walking past the journalists on their way to the press room where the top three would be giving their testimonials on the race and took a cab back to the hotel. The entire way there Castiel did not utter a word, instead thinking back on Dean’s accident and the events of the day. Would Dean still be with the medical unit? Would he race in Bahrain in two weeks’ time? That was the next race after the Australian Grand Prix, but Castiel did not know the extent of Dean’s injuries. Surely he _was_ injured, you don’t just walk away from a 200 mph crash with nothing.

Castiel sighed once he entered his hotel room. There was no use dwelling on it. It wasn’t Castiel’s business to worry about Dean, and it would be showing favoritism if he did. Castiel did not have the same level of interest in Metatron’s well being as he did for Dean, after all. He couldn’t bring himself to think about worrying about Metatron before his thoughts returned to the sheepish green eyes he saw ablaze at the interviewing area. To think that fire of life almost went out today…

He didn’t feel like going to any after parties or events, but he did get back in time to watch the sunset over Melbourne.

The rays caught beautifully across the horizon, scarlet melting into orange like lava slowly creeping over the sky. It really wasn’t a bad looking place to see, even if Castiel was only there for the weekend. Traveling the world was a perk of the job, just like Dean had said, so seeing twenty percent of the world was better than nothing, right?

Castiel groan as he realized his thoughts returned to Dean again. He’d royally screwed up coverage of his first race all because of a crash, but in his defense what did they expect of him? He still didn’t even know why they picked his application.

The sun set almost too quickly for Castiel’s liking, so he moved his attention to his bed and stared at the ceiling. He stayed that way for a few hours at least, long after Castiel heard the telltale signs of his crewmembers returning from the parties well and into the early hours of the morning. His insomnia wasn’t helping, so Castiel got up to leave his room to walk around. Walking always helped clear his mind and tire him out, something he thought would have already been taken care of with the day he’d had. The hallways in the hotel were big and long; Castiel could explore a little like he had on the plane. He was about to pass the complimentary concierge area when he heard a labored groan coming from inside. All crew were on the uppermost floors of the hotel, but Castiel had assumed the drivers were in an entirely separate hotel altogether.

Which is why when he found Sam trying to help an obviously in pain Dean in the middle of the night, he was more than a bit surprised. They had all the windows shut and the door closed, but Castiel still saw the silhouette of Dean lying down on the couch while Sam applied what looked to be bandages.

“Excuse me, but wha—” Castiel began. He could not finish his sentence before a very, _very_ tall Sam loomed over him threateningly.

“You shouldn’t be here. I am asking you nicely once to please leave and return to your room.” For a little brother, Sam sure was _not_ a little brother.

“Calm down Sam,” a quiet voice came from behind the younger Winchester’s back. “He’s good.”

Sam softened slightly as he hesitantly extended his hand. “Sam Winchester. Sorry about the scare act but my brother’s in a bit of a bend at the moment.”

Castiel took the man’s hand. “Castiel Novak. No offense taken.”

Something seemed to pass over Sam then. “So _you’re_ Cas, huh? Well then, tell me. Do you have any medical experience?”

“I do, actually. Before I became a broadcasting major I was on track for pre-med. I fell in love with television during my junior year and decided to change.”

“That’s great! I mean, not the whole changing majors thing because that’s always rough, but I mean for the experience. You can help me out.” Sam motioned for Castiel to follow him to where Dean was laying on his back, his plain t-shirt soaked through in sweat.

Dean still sounded like it was a normal Sunday night despite his features contorting in pain. “Hey, Cas. We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

“Hello, Dean. I suppose that would be in the best interest for your health.” Castiel surveyed Dean’s state. “I’m going to have to ask you to sit up so that I can take your shirt off.

“Woah there now. You gotta at least buy me dinner first.” Dean made a weak attempt to smile, but it still worked to make something in Castiel stir.

“Was that a flirtation?”

“Was that a quote from somewhere?” Dean fired back.

“Dean, just let Sam take your shirt off.”

For his part, Sam seemed to be watching the entire conversation almost in shock, though why that was Castiel didn’t know. Dean shut up and complied, the shirt peeling off him like a layer of skin. Underneath, Castiel inspected a rather well toned body, muscles well taken care of and even a small, rounder area of belly that disappeared down Dean’s stomach. Castiel felt his cheeks heat up, but he continued nevertheless inspecting Dean’s chest. Sure enough, there was deep purple bruising where the end of Dean’s ribs would be. Thankfully, there were no evident scratches, but the damage seemed to be below the skin. He pointed them out to Sam. “You see this? This is mostly likely a result of the crash. They are not broken because otherwise Dean would have even more trouble breathing than he already does. We need to bandage it strongly so that the bones do not crack if accidentally jostled. Hand me the bandage.”

Sam obliged and gave him the cut-up strips of cloth. Slowly, Cas instructed Sam on how to put the bandages on his brother, not doing it himself because he thought it might be awkward for Dean. Instead Castiel backed away from where they were and guided from afar until Dean’s entire side was covered in extra-strength wraps. On the side table was a bottle of whiskey that Cas noted Dean was drinking out of, probably to curb the pain he was feeling.

“You will need to have it x-rayed to make sure that nothing is broken, but even with that I do not think you should be racing any time soon.” It wasn’t a professional medical opinion, but it sure as hell was Castiel’s opinion.

“Thanks Cas, but you can’t tell anyone about this,” Dean said as he looked Castiel in the eye. There was an evident fear there that was clouded by pain, no hint of Dean being any sort of drunk from the whiskey. “I’ll deny it in front of that cameras. That’s all they want, the story about their senior driver out for the next few races and out of the championship before it really begins. I can’t do that, man. I’ll be fine, I’ve been through worse.”

Castiel scoffed. “I would not tell on you Dean. I may be a journalist, but I have a conscience. I would not tell on you for the sake of a story. Besides, I am not on good terms with my crew at the moment because I ran towards the crash after it had happened to see if you were okay. At least give me a little credit.” Castiel did not sway his eye contact as he spoke to Dean. For some reason, he needed Dean to believe him.

It seemed to work, for it softened Dean’s composure a bit. He broke eye contact quickly and looked anywhere but Castiel, responding with a gruff, “Okay.” If Castiel didn’t know any better, he would swear Dean was embarrassed.

“I know you most likely do not want to move,” Castiel spoke softly, “but it is better that you get proper bed rest and fluids if you wish to heal enough to race without a labored breathing following you to Bahrain in two weeks.”

“Ah, so the padawan has learned the race schedule?”

“I have no idea what that means, but if you are referring to simply checking where my next flight leads then yes.”

It was enough to make Dean laugh, but it quickly turned into a pained expression as Dean doubled over from the pain. “Okay, Cas. How about we don’t make me laugh for a while and you and Sam help me to my room.”

“Noted. You may have to fight a battle more than once to win it,” Castiel offered his hand as Sam moved to help Dean up.

“And who said that, Shakespeare?” Dean took it so he could be held up by Castiel and Sam.

“Margaret Thatcher.”

"Great. The Iron Lady herself wants me to keep fighting. That’s comforting,” Dean quipped. They fell silent when they entered the hallway, not wanting to accidentally wake up anyone else and reveal the true nature of Dean’s injuries. Thankfully, Dean’s room was not far away and was right next to Sam’s so that they shared a door between them. Sam and Castiel deposited Dean on his bed before Sam motioned for Castiel to go to Sam’s room. Dean was already passed out by the time his head hit the pillow, tired from either the work of the day he had or the whiskey he’d imbibed. Any questions Castiel could have asked him would have to wait for another time.

“I want to thank you, Cas,” Sam said after he offered Castiel something to drink once they were in the other room. “For what happened back there, I mean.”

“It is nothing, Sam. I am only glad my insomnia can help someone else.”

“Yeah, Dean mentioned that,” Sam chuckled. Castiel froze, which Sam picked up on. “Sorry, it’s just that we’re brothers and brothers talk. He took that flight with you instead of with me and the rest of the drivers because he stayed behind to visit some friends before we left, but the first thing he told me about when he called me on Friday was about the guy he met on the plane that made him forget he was flying.” Sam paused, almost as if to gauge Castiel’s reaction. He must have seen something that was okay with him, as Castiel was having difficulty processing. “Look, you seem like you’ve got a good heart, but this is my brother, you hear me? Just because he’s known you a little longer than I have doesn’t mean we’re fair game. Not a word to your crew friends, especially Frank.” Sam’s face scrunched up a bit then, almost as if Frank had somehow offended them in the past. With how much Frank seemed to like conspiracy theories, maybe he had.

“I promise you, Sam. I will not tell a soul. Dean and I may have just met, but I did not come here to make enemies, especially with you and your brother.”

“Good, and for the record I think I can speak for the both of us that the last thing we want you to be is an enemy.” Sam clapped Castiel on the back. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m beat and I’ve got a couple of friends to call back in the States, so I’ll see you later.”

“I will see you later as well. Give Dean my regards. Also, congratulations on your victory.”

Sam grinned. “Yeah, twenty-five points is a good way to start out any season.” Castiel made a mental note to go over the points system for the championship. That was probably important. He left Sam’s room and quickly returned to his own, far more tired than he had been only an hour before.

Once he returned to his bed, Castiel was able to close his eyes easily. The first race and its weekend was over and done, but not without complications. Castiel had two weeks to recollect his thoughts before Bahrain, the next race, and the next adventure.

One down. Only 19 more to go; what else could possibly happen?

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas likes quotes, and a lot of quotes are used throughout the fic. Some are caught by the characters, but most are not. They are listed here in case you wanted to know where they came from :)
> 
> Lack of Knowledge, that is the problem. – W. Edwards Deming 
> 
> Playing favorites is always a bad thing; you can do great harm in seemingly harmless ways – Proverb 28:21
> 
> We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down – Kurt Vonnegut 
> 
> The speed of the leader is the speed of the gang – Mary Kay Ash 
> 
> Was that a flirtation? - Castiel
> 
> You may have to fight a battle more than once to win it – Margaret Thatcher 
> 
> Other chapters will have additional trivia about places or events that happen in the fic in case you get curious about races or events, but keep reading!
> 
> For example, the crash Dean and Metatron had in this chapter is based of [this real life crash](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tS8g_urBuLc). (Dean is Alonso in this case)


	2. Bahrain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Sam W. (25 points)  
> Charlie B (18 points)  
> Lucifer M (15 points)  
> Michael S. (12 points)  
> Kevin T. (10 points)  
> Balthazar R. (8 points)  
> Crowley M. (6 points)  
> Gadreel P. (4 points)  
> Ash H. (2 points)  
> Benny L. (1 points)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, okay, now that we've gotten the first chapter out of the way I can talk a little more!
> 
> Welcome, and thanks for already liking this enough to keep on going. As you probably saw, this fic was created with the idea that most people reading likely do not know what Formula 1 may be as a sport or profession, hence the explanations for both the reader and Castiel's benefit :)
> 
> There will be notes on every chapter filled with quotes, fun facts, and links to the sport and some real-world experiences that this fic draws inspiration from during respective scenes, namely a bfs show the journalists of F1 started called _Off the Grid_. Some will be linked in the fic, others will just be in the notes for your benefit. The end goal of all of this is really just to make you a f1 fan lbr (kidding, kinda), but all jokes aside I really hope you enjoy living in this world that I grew up in and have the pleasure of introducing Dean and Cas to.
> 
> Okay, see you soon!

Castiel made a mental note to never think those words again when he woke up the next morning. Furious banging that threatened to break the door off its hinges was Castiel’s alarm clock, forcing the journalist to spring from his bed and grab a nearby tripod as a weapon. Even in his groggy state, one can never be too careful; a tripod could be like a blade if you used it right.

He didn’t know what or who to expect. Logic reasoned that it could be Frank, but his room was on the lower floor and it wasn’t time to be up, judging by the bleary numbers Castiel made out on his alarm clock. Plus, there was so much security around that it would be like testing a thief to break in. Point being: Castiel was prepared for the worst.

When he opened the door tentatively to find a very large Sam Winchester crowding the space, Castiel wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or scared. Honestly, how Sam was even able to be a driver was beyond Castiel given how tall he was and how small the car cockpits seemed to be—not that Castiel was short by any means, but Sam was currently crushed into the small frame of the Melbourne hotel door staring him down; he couldn’t help but feel small in that instance.

 “Sam?” Castiel began, his heartrate yet to drop. “Did something happen to Dean?”

“Are you joking right now?” Sam spat back, clearly furious. His jaw was on the verge of shattering with how hard it was clenched. “Care to explain this?” He lifted his phone for Castiel to make out the words that were on the screen.

 

                                                

 

It was from one of the sport newsfeeds, though the words helped Castiel piece together why Sam was there to begin with:

 

_Breaking Story: Dean Winchester seriously injured after crash in Melbourne;_

_Bruising in ribs force him out of Bahrain Grand Prix_

 

The headline was accompanied with a dark photograph of Sam patching up Dean from last night, the bruises coloring Dean’s torso evident.

Shit.

Sam must have thought it was Castiel that leaked the story and the picture. “Sam, this was not— “

“Really, Castiel? You’re gonna try to make an excuse?” Sam cut him off. “Dean’s being hounded by just about every medical professional Ferrari has right now and they’re not gonna let him race because of it. It really hurts us in points as a team, man, and it doesn’t make Dean look good at _all_.” Castiel was pretty sure that if Sam was not a logical person he would have already attempted to punch Castiel. Hell, Sam was mostly likely considering it anyway.

“What I told you last night is still true, Sam. I do not know how this happened or how someone got a picture of it, but I was in my room the entirety of the night.” He knew that was likely a horrible alibi, but it was all he had.

Suddenly Sam’s screen went black, an incoming call replacing the news story.  Sam turned the phone away before Castiel could get a proper look at the picture. Sam huffed. “Look, I’m going to say I believe you for now because I have to go do press about this whole thing, but just because my brother seems to trust you doesn’t mean I’m gonna be convinced easily. All journalists want a story.” It sounded more like Sam was talking to himself at this point, but instead of saying goodbye to Castiel he merely turned away, taking the call as he made his way back to his own room. “Hey Bobby, yeah Dean’s fine…” His words echoed in the empty hallway before tapering off. All Castiel could do was stare at where Sam had stood, his brain going into overdrive.

When he closed the door he pulled up the article on his own phone, now able to look at the picture more closely. The bruising on Dean’s ribs was pretty damn clear, even in the darkness of the night, with no lights or flash on. It looked like it had been taken in secret, and thankfully only Sam and Dean were in the picture. A small view of Castiel’s arm was the only thing that indicated there was another person there. Had he himself been in the picture, there would have been even more questions as to why a journalist was with two of the best rookie drivers in the sport without some sort of representative, even Castiel knew that much. Frank would have had his head on a platter then, especially since it wasn’t him that reported anything. Maybe it would have been Frank and Sam both at his door this morning.

He groaned at the thought.

 _This is gonna be a long day, on top of getting everything set up and out for the next race,_ Castiel thought to himself as he packed up his bags in preparation to leave the hotel room. Frank had called him while he was reading the article, telling him that Ferrari was holding an immediate press conference with the Ferrari drivers to address the “leaked” situation. Castiel didn’t let Frank know he already knew.

When Castiel found Frank and the crew downstairs they were already dressed and ready for the press interview, Castiel being the only one still in casual attire save for his network polo. No one on TV was going to see his pants anyway. No one would probably see him at all.

“You’re on time, at least.” It was Frank’s way of saying hello, that much Castiel had learned. “I assume you’ve read the story then? Where were you that you didn’t see this? You’re on the same floor as the Winchesters!” He spoke in a hushed voice but with ferocity, not wanting anyone to overhear while still wanting Castiel to know that he was pissed.

“It was a long day, Frank. Forgive me for choosing sleep over an invasion of privacy,” Castiel rebuffed. He had yet to have coffee or anything remotely edible yet. Screw him if he was grouchy on top of this entire situation he’d woken up to. “You knew they were on my floor?”

“Looks like someone’s finally starting to grow a pair,” Frank smirked. “Of course I did, there’s a reason I put you there with how I found you in first class.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. What’s done is done and we’ve got a meeting to get to. Now, because of your screw up yesterday I’ll be asking all the questions while you take notes and watch how press works. You’re on cord duty behind the cameras in the back, see if you learn a thing or two while you’re at it.” Frank was talking and walking, the entire crew now flashing their credentials at the security that was guarding the press room on the main floor of the hotel.

Castiel sighed in relief despite his staring at Frank’s comment about the plane. At least he didn’t have to pretend to ask questions he knew the answers to when Sam (and Dean, most likely) must be mad at him, even if none of this was his fault. “Yes, Frank. I will learn something,” he appeased his boss. He kept his head bowed once they had entered the room, not wishing to draw any attention to himself in case someone decided to start snooping. Injuries in this sport had to be normal, right? Maybe it would blow over and Dean would still be able to race in two weeks. People getting hurt in other sports in the US was not usually as big a deal as this... though in fairness, Castiel didn't watch any sports to really know…

Sam had said this would hurt the team, and Castiel was inclined to believe someone that knew a lot more about how F1 worked and made a substantial more amount of money than he did right now.

He sat towards the back of the room that had been lined with chairs, a table with three microphones set up in the front where he assumed Sam and Dean would be sitting. Other reporters had already arrived, their own camera crews setting up beside Castiel. When the time came for the conference to begin, everything was dead quiet. It was unsettling, like no man’s land during trench warfare.

A man dressed in the distinctive red Ferrari color came out from the door behind the curtain first, identifying himself as one of the chief doctors on staff. Sam and Dean had yet to arrive, though Castiel assumed they were in the back where the doctor had come from.

“Hello,” the doctor began as he sat down in front of one of the microphones. “I am one of the chief medical doctors on staff for the Ferrari team and, in light of a recent news story, have been authorized to give a statement regarding the medical condition of our senior driver, Dean Winchester.” It all sounded rehearsed. Maybe it was from the notoriety Ferrari had. “I am here to inform you that Dean Winchester did receive a mild blow to his lower ribs, causing them to bruise but not fracture or break. They are concerning, but not life altering or threatening.”

“Doctor!” Frank shot up, not even bothering to wait if questions could be asked or not. It surprised Castiel, who had been listening with rapt attention and pretending that he did not already know this information. “As this was obviously a result from the crash, why is this just being reported now and why was the information leaked from an anonymous source?”

The doctor looked caught off guard. Maybe he had not planned on being asked questions.

“We are unaware who leaked the photo or their intentions, but there was no immediate sign of injury after the initial checkup right after the crash…” Castiel tried his hardest not to roll his eyes.

"No immediate sign or you simply didn’t want to look?” Frank did not seem to care about what the doctor was actually saying. His line of questioning continued for a bit like that, Frank attempting to find the holes in the doctor’s story while the doctor attempted to not just outright punch Frank in the face.

“Sir, I was told to give a statement, not be put on trial,” the doctor had said after a few minutes of Frank’s grilling. “Save any and all questions for when we ask for them.” He looked like he was about to break. Castiel felt bad for the guy. Once Frank relented, the doctor continued. “Now, I have advised the team that Dean Winchester not race in the coming Bahrain Grand Prix in two weeks’ time, and instead let their reserve driver, Adam Milligan, take Dean’s place in his car for this race so that Dean Winchester can be rested and fully recovered for the following race in China.”

“Like hell that’s happening!” the distinctive voice of the green eyed man in question exclaimed from behind the curtains. Castiel had to hide a smile at that.

With the doctor thrown off by Dean’s sudden outburst he announced that the drivers would be coming out. This was followed by Sam, Dean, and another driver that Castiel assumed was Adam step out from behind the curtain. All three were in their Ferrari gear and hats, Dean’s racing suit having been accommodated for bandages, a small curve jutting out from the normal lines the suit had clung to just days before. It wasn’t all that noticeable, but considering how little the suits left to the imagination Castiel knew he wasn’t imagining it. When all three stepped out, accompanied by the sound of cameras going off and murmuring in the media. The stars had arrived.

Adam looked happy, dirty blond hair obscured by the hat that sported his car’s number (if he had a car) and a skewed smile on his face that did not sit well with Castiel. Both Sam and Dean alike looked as if they had been arguing, neither one willing to look at the other or at the journalists and reporters that were eagerly waiting. They all sat down, each in front of his respective mic, but not before Castiel saw a small wisp of pain cloud over Dean’s expression as he sat. It was there and gone in an instant, practiced with time. This must not be Dean’s first injury like this.

“Hello,” Sam began before Dean cut him off. There was obvious tension, but it seemed like Castiel was the only one that could pick up on it.

“We know why we’re all here. Might as well cut to the chase,” Dean grumbled, his face showing no traces of pain. “I am fine and I’ll be fit and ready by the time we’re racing in Bahrain. My season has only just started and a little case of ring around the rosie isn’t going to take me down.” He spoke evenly and with determination. _Maybe this was his one last ditch effort for his team to see that he was in driving condition,_ Castiel assumed _._ “I’ve been through worse,” Dean said that part with more remorse than pride. It caught Castiel’s attention. What more had Dean gone through?

Frank didn’t seem to care. “Dean,” he called the driver’s attention, this time standing up before other journalists could even think of stealing the first question from him. “You say you are fine to race, and that’s all fine and dandy for everyone but your reserve driver,” he motioned to Adam, who seemed to want to steal the spotlight before Frank continued, “but what we’re all wanting to know is who else was in the picture and why you were drinking in it.”

Of course Frank would ask about the hand, but Castiel hadn’t even thought about the liquor. Was that allowed? Dean was a professional _driver_ , of course they must regulate alcohol levels to a T in order to be driving miniature airplanes so fast in front of crowds of thousands. Still, the real accusation didn’t go over his head as to what Frank was really asking. _Did you drive and crash under the influence and have someone else involved during the race as well?_ Yeah, that would turn some heads, but Dean didn’t seem to be inebriated during the race.

It looked like the question didn’t go over Sam’s head, either. He spoke before Dean could get a word in, probably a wise choice. “The officials have already ruled the accident as Metatron’s fault for impeding into Dean’s line, and we’re tested for alcohol before every practice and race, therefore the insinuation that you are making is without any merit and only makes you look as if you want to start a feud. Lastly, I just won the race, so it was okay to celebrate with my brother as both my family and my fellow driver. We drink champagne on the podium for crying out loud.” Say what you would about Sam Winchester, but the man was furiously protective of his brother. Castiel could have sworn that in another life Sam could be a lawyer. Not once did he raise his voice but that did not mean he was calm.  

Sam’s answer served to shut Frank up for about .2 seconds before he spoke again. “That may be, but you still have yet to address the hand in the frame.” Castiel froze at that, quickly realizing it was his hand they were talking about. He was in the back of the room and not currently the center of attention, however, so no one noticed.

No one except Dean, who had his eyes trained on Castiel ever since Frank started speaking. Castiel met them hesitantly, silently trying to communicate with him that all of this was not his doing.

There was a pain in Dean’s eyes, like Dean didn’t want to believe this was all Castiel’s fault. He thought briefly then that if anything, the picture showed that it wasn’t Castiel who had taken it. But still, Castiel knew that whatever Sam or Dean said next would be a lie. They could not risk saying that it was Castiel because he was now the head rookie reporter in the paddock. Any sort of media member in such close proximity to them would likely cost them their careers if they did it knowingly. This sport was not a children’s game; it was a business.

“It was a hotel employee that had come to help after Sammy ordered food,” Dean spoke, his eyes having moved from Castiel to Frank. “Nothing to get you all into a frenzy like this, Frank.” He glared at the other man, a silent challenge. His gaze was fierce, an anger that seemed to span far deeper than the current situation.

It was enough to silence Frank completely then, out of options for any other conspiracy theories he could come up with on the spot. Castiel shot Dean a small smile, thankful that Dean could pull through this without hurting his own reputation, but Dean wasn’t looking at him anymore. Green eyes were instead as dark as night with his mood.

The press conference ended after that, the drivers leaving after Dean stated once more that he will be racing in Bahrain; Adam no longer sported a smile on his face. Castiel walked out with Frank by the time all three drivers cleared the curtain. “That was very heated, Frank,” Castiel commented to his senior journalist. “Even for you.”

Frank scoffed. “You’ve got to strike while the iron is hot, kid. Besides, I don’t believe it was some maid. I know all the maids in this hotel, have for years. ‘Would’ve heard the story first if it was one of them.” Castiel paused at that, a small amount of fear returning. If Frank didn’t believe Dean, then who else in that room didn’t? Frank continued speaking, however. “No, kid. I think it was a lover, even if those hands didn’t look feminine. Dean’s notorious with the ladies, so he likely lied to protect the person. That means the person is important. I’m gonna find her.”

Castiel stopped walking, causing Frank to turn around impatiently. His ears perked at the insinuation Frank made; though if Dean was notorious with the ladies, he should not feel any sort of emotion towards the remark. Unconsciously, he looked down at his hands. They were calloused, sure, but they were pretty steady and light. Maybe not feminine, but they were good hands. Other reporters had already filed out to fill the lobby of the hotel by that point, but they were in their own respective circles. _I resent that comment, Frank,_ he wanted to say. “What about privacy?” he asked instead. Dean didn’t deserve having people look into him like that.

Frank rolled his eyes. “These guys are the top of the top, cream of the crop, Novak. They’re celebrities in this sport and all around the world. They lost privacy the minute they got into an F1 car.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, he told Frank that he would meet them at the plane before dropping the cables he had been carrying. His instincts told him that he needed to set things straight with Dean sooner rather than later and, since he did not have Dean’s number, that meant he needed to speak with the other man face-to-face. _This will be difficult…_

Castiel made his way back to the room that was adjacent from the press room, the one he saw Sam, Dean, and Adam all go into after the conference.

It was, understandably, blocked by just about every security detail imaginable, two on guard by the door and a fair amount more stationed around corners leading to the room. They eyed him suspiciously, and even for a moment Castiel felt like he was an intruder that was there to rob the crown jewels instead of a man that just wanted to know how his friend was doing, if he could call Dean a friend. Could he? Was friendship allowed in this sport?

He was about to turn back when the door behind the main security guard, a tall fierce woman with curly hair pulled into a ponytail, opened slightly, a flash of red and green met Castiel’s eyes before the door shut once more, the entire encounter as fast as the pit stop he had witnessed during the race. Regardless, it was enough to result in another person clad in red to come out of the room and whisper to the security guards.

The woman’s eyes trained on him while she was fed information, and before Castiel knew it he was being ushered to the opposite side of the hotel wing and into a broom closet.  Great, Sam must have had to tell his bosses what he thought was the truth and now Castiel was going to suffer for allegedly leaking the information. This was all just… _great._ He lasted a grand total of 72 hours in this sport. _Hannah will have a riot…_

“Wait here,” the strong voice of the woman ordered. Castiel obliged, his face schooled to show no emotion. When the door closed, he began looking around the supply closet and noting the vast amount of cleaning supplies and toilet paper. He was about to finish counting the toilet paper for the fifth time about half an hour later when the door opened and Dean himself walked in, his Ferrari gear replaced with a black hoodie and sunglasses. Dean closed the door before taking off his disguise and looking at Castiel, his green eyes vibrant in the yellow light.

“Hey, Cas,” he whispered, almost as if he were greeting an old friend that Castiel definitely wasn’t. He looked sad.

“Dean, if you let me explain I can assure you that I had nothing to do with this.” Castiel launched headfirst into speaking. “I do not know who was taking a picture of us, but you have to believe me when I say it wasn’t me. I know we also do not know each other well and have only ever truly spoken on a plane a few days ago when I did not know who you were, but I would never do anything to betray your trust like that if I had the honor of having it. Frank was out of line for speaking at you in such a manner but I did not know how to tell him to stop or if I could.” Castiel did not have the heart to look Dean in his sad eyes in that moment, instead letting his gaze drift to the floor as if this was all his fault for not having done anything. He spoke softer after that, a complete turnaround to his quickly paced apology. “I just need you to believe that this was not me, but if you truly do not believe me, then I understand if you never wish to speak with me again.”

Dean stayed silent for a few seconds, the silence deafening. Castiel still hadn’t raised his head to look at the other man, the one Frank said was a womanizer and a celebrity. Of course this was too big to be forgiven. He already knew he should not be here, and now Dean was going to think he was a horrible person and never wish to speak to him again—

He heard the sound of lips smacking together before Dean lowered his head into Castiel’s line of sight, forcing them to lock eyes. It all felt intimate, holding the other’s gaze, something Castiel had no business feeling at that moment. “Hey, Cas,” Dean repeated again, softer this time, as if he were trying not to spook an animal.

“…Hello, Dean,” Castiel continued to search for something, anything in Dean’s eyes that would show that Dean was angry with him. The broom closet was relatively small, therefore Castiel was close enough to see flecks of gold hidden in the deepening shades of green. He found no trace of anger in the slightest. In its place was…brightness? Was Dean _happy_?

“I know it wasn’t you.” Dean seemed to move closer. Was he closer? “It was Adam, all because he was too antsy and wanted my spot in my car. None of this is your fault.” Castiel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He realized too soon that Dean was close enough to feel it on his face. Something in his heart stirred. _What is happening?_

“He was the one that took the picture?”

“Yeah, he snuck in sometime before you came, I think, or was maybe there before Sammy and me. Then he just bided his time until something big happened, the bastard.” Dean had all the spit of a rattlesnake when he finished speaking. There was bad blood between them to say the least. “And as for Frank, well like I said, Frank doesn’t know what he talks about sometimes.”

Somewhat relieved, Castiel continued with what he found himself dreading. “I am sorry Adam and Frank did that to you, Dean, but my earlier point still stands. Though we never plan to meet, if you wish to not want to see me outside of press conferences and interviews during races, I understand. After all, I am a journalist and we are meant to ‘get scoops,’” he raised his hands to emphasize the quotations, “but if it was too close to learning more about you, then I will take my insomnia walks somewhere else. I’ll return your headphones to you as well.”  It was the last thing Castiel wanted to do, but Sam’s conversation from this morning rang in his head. He was shocked to hear Dean’s laugh, how free it sounded even after it was muffled with slight pain.

“It’s only been one race and it already feels like half the year’s gone by this week.” Dean sounded more like he was speaking to himself than to Cas, but he continued. “Sam told me about what he said this morning, by the way, and believe me, I made him feel sorry for going to town on you when we didn’t know everything yet,” Dean gave him a small smile. “Keep the headphones. They’re a gift for that quote-loving brain of yours. You keep those. As for the not seeing you part…” Castiel braced himself for the inevitable. “that’s not really something I... want…” Dean said it slowly, almost as if gauging Castiel’s reaction.

What?

“What do you mean, Dean?”

“What I mean is that I…like having you around…but we just can’t be seen together.” Dean gestured to the closet around them. “Hence, why we’re currently in a five-star broom closet and not outside of the briefing room where you just stood like a statue at.” He tentatively placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, their faces mere inches apart. Castiel refused to breathe. “You’re right about one thing, though. People would talk and I could lose my job if it looked like I was selling secrets to the press. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you around.” He sounded nervous, like this was a massive secret. In hindsight it made perfect sense. Castiel saw how secretive all the teams were in the practice sessions before the race even began. They must all have their own versions of their cars that fit with regulations and don’t want other teams learning what made their cars work. If Dean was publically walking around with Castiel without an apparent reason, a journalist and reporter for the very network that was meant to give out information, no one would care if they were friends or not and would jump to conclusions, just like Sam had with the story. Castiel would be labelled a spy and Dean would lose his job. He was just trying to protect Castiel.

He was trying to protect Castiel…

“Okay,” Castiel answered, the room suddenly feeling very tight with how close they were. He felt that same something stirring again. Frank had said Dean was a ladies man…right? And though the room was small, it wasn’t _that_ small. Why was he so close? “For the record, I would like to see you around as well,” he heard himself say.

Dean grinned in a way Castiel had yet to see before, one where the smile reached his eyes completely. “Great!” he spoke loudly, too loudly. “That’s great, Cas,” he whispered after, the smile still there. In that brief moment, Dean suddenly looked younger than Castiel had ever seen him, the worry lines not as pronounced. He did want to see Castiel again, and the reason behind it made sense. Still, there was one part nagging at the back of his mind.

Castiel couldn’t help but return the infectious smile before that thought resurfaced. “You should know, however, that Frank does not believe your version of events. He thinks the hand belongs to a woman, even if it looked like a man’s hand, because of your, um, womanizing past.” He tripped on the last word. It somewhat annoyed Castiel that his hand was being misidentified, but he couldn’t figure out why it annoyed him.

The other man froze at the words, and before Castiel could do anything to try to calm Dean’s thoughts the moment was over, Dean’s face morphing to a blank expression. “Let Frank believe what he wants. Alcoholic, womanizer, playboy, whatever. Just don’t tell him the truth.” He sounded as if he was pleading again, like he had in the concierge room last night. It was odd, but Castiel didn’t question it. There was something growing between them, and he wasn’t going to risk losing it.

“Please tell me you will take the next two weeks to rest so that you can actually race? Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.”

Dean caught it. “You and your quotes…” He smirked. “Yeah, Cas. I’ve got a pillow calling my name.” Again his words were softer, more intimate, low enough that not even the toilet paper could have heard them.

“See you in Bahrain, Dean.”

“Catch you there, Cas.”

~

 

Bahrain was just about the exact picture you get when you imagine a desert oasis. Palm trees in square plazas; dunes marking the distance like the gateway to another world; even the water was crystal clear in the fountains and pools scattered throughout the venue.

Castiel marveled at the world around the International Bahrain Circuit, the entire area flat except for the round, lotus shaped building that was the main headquarters for the race officials, its horizon spanning the entire circuit and all its turns. To think this beauty existed in a place that has held so much negative news coverage in the past few years was something straight out of a fantasy movie. Castiel cursed at himself for foolishly thinking the Middle East was nothing but a war zone like he had heard in the news, not a place like this where it looked like New York at night, lights blinding you in every direction and food of all shapes and sizes calling your name. It felt like an alien outpost in a world meant to deter you from ever knowing its existence, and yet there Castiel was, helping Frank move equipment and gear into their hotel after landing.

They’d touched down easily, the flight not too long, but it had been two weeks since Melbourne. In all that time, Castiel had not heard so much as a blip from Dean since their parting in the broom closet, Castiel having left first followed by Dean twenty minutes later. It was all so secretive that Castiel didn’t even have Dean’s number. He had forgotten to ask, and now he was paying for it in not knowing any more than what the press had been informed. Dean had taken the two weeks to rest, though no official word had been said as to whether or not he would ultimately be racing here despite his claims. Castiel didn’t know if it was the journalist or personal side of him that wanted to know. Both sides wanted different answers.

 _You’re being stupid,_ he chided himself. _Focus on now._

And so Castiel did, spending more time in his hotel room in the interim learning about the sport and how best to conduct interviews. The drivers and the crew were no longer staying in the same hotel for this race like they did in Melbourne, instead the drivers were staying at on-site hospitality units reserved specifically for the teams. Bahrain, like Melbourne, are what are known as a “fly-away” race, meaning Frank and the crew would not have as much equipment this time as they would when they got to Europe. Melbourne wasn’t as strict because it was the first race, which gave time for people to set up. In Bahrain, however, it was a couple of mobile cameras and a self-setup control station that would be manning the broadcast. Because of that, Castiel was going to be more on his own and he was liberated from cord duty since there were no cords, his camera team having satellite antennas on backpacks for mobile broadcast. _Maybe this whole world was alien._

The first few days of practice were a blur, their vigor running through the weekend just as much as it had in Australia. Castiel himself didn’t really see much of the practices, but he did have his hand in talking to some of the drivers. This time he was better prepared, seasoned in the art of sport mechanics and Wikipedia.

"How do you feel the weather will impact your performance?” he’d asked Gadreel of the Angel Martini team. “What sort of strategy will we be considering?” he’d asked Ash and Garth, the two drivers of the Harvelle team. Castiel even got to see the Red Bull team in action, their drivers Michael and Lucifer tearing up the track in record times. Lucifer held the championship title from last year’s season, so he was the car to beat.

“With times like these in Practice Two, what are your thoughts looking forward to the race on Sunday?” He’d just caught Lucifer getting out of his car and heading to the hospitality units. In hindsight, the guy was most likely stark tired and ready to call it a day after about five hours in a Formula One car, but Castiel had a job. This was exactly the kind of thing Frank had told him to do, even if Lucifer put him on edge. You can’t just have a name like Lucifer and expect to be an angel… well, you know, the other kind of angel. Though Castiel shouldn’t judge.

The Red Bull driver squinted his eyes at Castiel after the question. “This is practice, a cake walk with our team being the best it has been for the last three years. Surely even an _intern_ _reporter_ like you already knows that,” he sneered. It stopped Castiel mid-thought, providing the driver with enough time to slink away. Weird… He squinted at where Lucifer’s frame disappeared into the Red Bull garage.

“Castiel! We’ve got another over here!” his cameraman, Kelvin, signaled to another driver getting out of his vehicle. Dwelling on thoughts would have to wait.

On like that it persisted, Castiel dancing around crew, other reporters, and Frank as he dashed from one interview to the next. For a sport so dedicated to speed, weekends like this were long hours and very little time to sit and watch. Castiel was not complaining, however. He had a job and he was executing it as best as he could. The learning curve had started to dwindle and Castiel got to know more about the other drivers. Crowley from Mercedes was a grouch. The team’s other driver Metatron was still out due to a more severe injury than the team had previously thought.

Metatron’s injuries only served to turn Castiel’s thoughts back to Dean, whom he had not yet seen the entire weekend. He had seen Sam racing in the first two practices, but Dean’s car sat idle in the Ferrari garage. It worried Castiel, but he could do nothing without looking like a spy. Regardless, if Dean wanted to race in Bahrain, he had to drive at least one full lap in the practice sessions to be allowed. Adam had the same requirements, unless there was an unexpected emergency, though all Castiel had seen from the reserve driver was his annoyed face on the monitors, no one allowed to interview him. If neither Dean nor Adam end up racing in the third practice, then they could not race in the Grand Prix, the one that mattered. Castiel went back to his hotel room that night wondering just what was going on behind closed doors at Ferrari, what Dean was saying. He still did not know which side was the reason he was so invested in Dean in particular: reporter or personal?

“Knowing him, Dean was most likely lobbying to race despite his injuries,” Castiel murmured to no one but the pillow he currently found his head burrowed into in his room. He sighed. _Information networks straddle the world. Nothing remains concealed._ Castiel would know by tomorrow, even if Dean would not be the one to tell him.

       

~

 

Dean did, in fact, race in Practice 3 the following morning. Castiel caught his car zooming down the straights and turns like a fish gliding through water. He ended up getting some of the best times throughout those two and a half hours in the morning session, better than Lucifer and Sam did the day before. It awed Castiel how Dean was able to do that even with an injury that could not have healed fully within the span of two weeks. Not something like that.

He could not find a time to talk to Dean, however, not with both paparazzi and other journalists hounding him about the team as well as the now infamous “girl’s hand” that Frank had put into everyone’s mind. Castiel didn’t envy the attention Dean was getting in the slightest, but he knew enough about Dean to know that he could handle himself. Talking to him would just have to wait, though Castiel did not know how long that wait would be. Ferrari wasn’t allowing any interviews with any of their drivers for this weekend until Qualifying time, despite how hard people had been trying. The only thing that Dean did say was that he was fine and that he would race. Castiel only hoped that Dean was right.

...Reporter or personal?

~

 

There were three practices sessions total, two held on Friday, and the last one held on Saturday just before Qualifying. Some races split it up to where there’s a practice session on Thursday, one on Friday, and then one on Saturday before Qualifying depending on the location, but the number always remains the same. Grands Prix (otherwise known as the main race) are held on Sunday where the winner would be given a trophy and would drink champagne to celebrate while on the podium. That was the general schedule for all 20 races except for the one in Monaco, but that part is for another time and Castiel is choosing to focus on now.

The practices all ended with Sam and Dean both pulling good numbers. Despite that, however, it was Charlie Bradbury from the Toro Rosso team that managed to edge Dean out for the best lap time of the session. She was already favored to get the pole position for Qualifying, the best position for Sunday’s race.

It was time for Castiel to turn up his skills as the time for Qualifying came a few hours later. He’d spent the morning in the garages and paddock interviewing technicians from different teams during the final practice session. Already he found himself making friends with Jo and Ellen of the Harvelle team, one of the smaller constructors.

“You sound like you got a good heart, kid,” Ellen had smiled at him after Castiel had wrapped the interview with the team principal. “It’s about time Frank retired.”

“I’ll say,” Jo intervened. “He would always stare at me like I was a secret Russian spy or something. And that whole stunt he pulled at the press conference with Dean? I mean, accusing him of drinking on the job? I mean, despite Dean’s history, that’s beyond low, even for him.” Castiel learned fairly quickly that Jo was not on good terms with the network reporters, though her comment cause him to think. She looked him in the eye. “You, on the other hand… There’s something about you. I couldn’t tell where you were in the interview from the livestreams, but I’m willing to bet you were there.”

Castiel nodded. “I was behind the camera holding the cords. I had no idea what Frank was going to accuse Dean in that manner. It was uncalled for.” He did not know why he had to justify his stance on the matter, but it likely had to do with the fact that the conversation revolved around Dean.

“You bet it was,” Ellen huffed, checking her drivers’ times before continuing. She was the chief principal of the team, otherwise known as the head of the racing constructor. “But I guess it does explain why it looked like Dean was looking at the camera so much.”

“Alright, so it wasn’t meant to be an _Office_ moment. I get it, Mom,” Jo chided, failing at hiding a smile. Castiel felt like he had missed the punchline.

“I beg pardon?”

“Oh don’t worry about it, Castiel. Just some girl talk amongst mother and daughter.” Ellen gave him a knowing look, but all Castiel got was even more confused. “Listen, Frank is no doubt about to call you back for Quali, so why don’t you take your shift and we’ll get ready to place Ash and Garth as high as we can for our team?” The women looked at him as if they had a secret shared he was not meant to know.

“…You’re right. I should be going.” Castiel thanked them and left in a haze, trying to understand just what it was that they were insinuating about Dean. _The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place._

True to Ellen’s word, Frank called not a minute later as Castiel made his way down the stairs from the paddock to the garages on pit lane, the area where the cars would come in to either retire from the race sessions or change their tires. The radio blared over his headphones.

“Novak, listen. Technicians are all fun and good but now is the time to hit the bigger targets. Now, Dean is off limits with all his issues right now, so you need to focus on Sam. He’s favored pole just as much as Bradbury, so start there.” Before Castiel could get a word in edgewise Frank ended the call.

Castiel stared off into space while he listened, now on the main floor with the rest of pit lane. He huffed. Dean he would be okay with speaking with right now, but Sam might still be angry about him for the whole issue about the leak even if he now knew it wasn’t Castiel’s fault. There were still so many terms to learn with the sport, too. Like ‘pole’ and first place in Qualifying being the same thing, or how there were too many ways to say the location of where he was right now. He vowed to start making a list after the day was over, but talking to Sam had to come first. If anything, it was finally time for Castiel to get answers to his own questions, not just the network’s.

He made his way over to the Ferrari garage, currently somewhat concealed with tarps so that cameras couldn’t get a good shot in to look at Dean or Adam behind closed doors. Sam was outside speaking to other reporters from other networks while the team worked on his car, the perfect opportunity for Castiel to come in.

“I feel good about our times and how we’re stacking up against the other teams right now,” Sam was saying when Castiel and Kelvin walked up. Sam caught Castiel’s eye and nodded in acknowledgement without breaking his sentences. “If the weather holds out like it is doing, then we’ll be able to get a few good laps in.”

The British reporter that had been asking the question seemed as if she wanted more, but Sam quickly turned to the next reporter. “I’m sorry, but due to current affairs I cannot speak about what I can see you really want to know. If you want to know about my brother you should ask him.” It seemed to deter the other reporter that was there as well, but Sam patiently waited for them all to ask their questions, turning to each of them and giving his full attention. Castiel didn’t know how he did it, answering the same string of questions he himself had been asking other drivers all day. Regardless, Sam saved Castiel for last after the other reporters had left. An unknown emotion passed over his eyes before he concealed it for the camera, but he was not fast enough for Castiel to miss it.

"You have a question for me, Castiel?” Sam prompted, not quite meeting him in the eye.

Castiel didn’t know where to start, having equally been deterred with Sam’s previous answer to the other journalists. His mind went on autopilot for him, asking questions he knew would work for the broadcast and from what he remembered from the pad of questions Frank had given him in Melbourne. Sam patiently answered each one, looking over Castiel’s shoulder instead of at the journalist. When Castiel had ended his string of ‘need to ask’ questions he paused.

He turned to his cameraman. “You may take a break, Kelvin. Those cameras are heavy as is without your lungs wanting to give out on you.” Castiel offered an empathetic look, knowing full well the truth to his words. Kelvin seemed taken aback, as if this was the first time someone had allowed him to have a break. Maybe it was. He disappeared quickly after that, and Castiel heard Sam give a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, man. I uh, couldn’t exactly apologize to you with a camera in my face.” Sam fully looked him in the eye then, guilt clearly hiding there.

Any tension Castiel had about conversing with Sam instantly disappeared. “It is alright Sam. You do not have to apologize for standing up for your brother. I understand.” He had always imagined he had a brother out there somewhere, and he taught himself to look at multiple angles of a story growing up, even the parts that lead to his decision about his life’s path. But now was not the time to throw himself into the past.

“No, but it’s not alright… Cas,” Sam tried Dean’s nickname for Castiel. Though it did not sound the same as when Dean said it, Castiel found that he was happy that Sam felt he could use the nickname. “I screwed up and nearly bit your head off without knowing the whole story, and for that I’m sorry.”

Castiel offered the younger Winchester a smile. “Right actions in the future are the best apologies for bad actions in the past. If it means that much to you, I accept your apology.”

Sam looked at him before laughing. “Dean did say you had a thing with words.” It was enough for Castiel to get back on track.

“How is he, Sam? How is he really?” Castiel spoke quietly, an illogical idea in hindsight considering there were sound-barrier-breaking cars not five feet away.

Sam gave him a knowing look. “He’s doing as much as he can, fighting through the pain we both know he still has. The doc said he didn’t crack any ribs, but they’ve been broken so many times that it’s a downright miracle they haven’t just flat out shattered yet,” Sam stopped himself, almost as if he was about to share a story but decided against it. He continued not too soon after. “I told him not to drive this time, but he also doesn’t want Adam taking the wheel either, not after what he did. I liked him at first, Adam, but these last few months it’s just felt like all he wants is to just outshine the team instead of help it. It’s just not our way, but that’s why he’s a reserve driver.”

Castiel understood that. Adam did not seem to be the person people thought him to be, not truly. He had yet to interview the reserve driver, but he was not looking forward to it whenever that time would come. “If you say that Dean has been through worse I will not prod you, but please let me know if there is anything I can do.”

“Yeah, but Cas,” Sam’s face grew hard, “This goes without saying that everything I just told you is between us. None of that was meant for anyone else. I don’t _not_ trust you, don’t get me wrong. I want to, but this is still a new thing.”

Castiel returned Sam’s expression, making sure that Sam understood what he was about to say. “I would not jeopardize this, Sam. Dean and I spoke after the press conference.”

“I was wondering if it was you he said he had to go meet.”

“Yes, we spoke and understand one another, but likewise you should know that Frank does not believe the story Dean made up about the hand. He believes it is a mistress, not a maid, that Dean is protecting.”

Sam gave him another knowing look. What is it with people in this sport and knowing looks for crying out loud? “This is going to be one hell of a season…” Sam spoke almost as if to himself instead of Castiel, but even so Castiel found himself nodding. Like he knew how the fuck this season was going to go; that didn’t mean Castiel felt that Sam would be wrong.

They were out of time then, as Qualifying was about to start and Sam was whisked away by his team to get ready for the opening session. He waved his hand in goodbye before he was gone back into the Ferrari garage, Kelvin returning not a few minutes later.

 

~

 

It went well, the entire Qualifying. No rain or apparent weather conditions in the forecast affected the tires, and the desert heat made the track feel like lava, perfect for the tires to stick to. It was something Castiel picked up while watching the cars and listening to Gabriel speak over the intercoms. Apparently heat and tires mixed well, having something to do with good grip on the track. He was learning a lot about this sport, but tires and their differences was still something he did not understand completely. Maybe Ellen would be willing to explain it to him with another one of her ‘knowing looks’. Castiel very much wished to understand, but at least he was starting to get the sport as a whole.

Charlie ended up getting pole position and qualifying first place for the race. Michael from Red Bull wound up in second while, surprisingly, Dean came in third and Sam in fourth. It was promising, especially after a mild bump between Sam and Crowley’s cars in the last Qualifying round. Crowley ended up placing sixth as a result, much to his team’s demanding that Sam take a penalty, but they were overruled. Though this was only Qualifying and there were no points at stake yet, it would still hurt Mercedes as a team without Metatron racing to try to earn points, Crowley being the only one representing the two of them. Even Gabriel made jokes concerning Crowley’s demeanor.

As usual, Castiel moved from one interview to the next, getting to meet Charlie’s co-driver on Toro Rosso, Kevin Tran, and interviewing Benny Lafitte, a French driver on the Turner Renault team. He still could not find a way to talk to Dean without other people being there, which in the end did not matter. Dean refused any interviews until after the Grand Prix tomorrow.

Despite that, however, Castiel was grateful for the less arduous day. Bahrain’s Grand Prix ended at night as opposed to when there was still light out like nearly every other race on the calendar, meaning many drivers and media personnel could spend the evening before at one of the parties or sleeping in preparation for tomorrow. For Castiel, that meant Frank dragged him along to one of the media parties. (“You interns are supposed to network with professionals, so network, Novak!”) Castiel lasted all of five minutes before he found himself outside of the party, the music muffled through the building walls as the night turned quiet once more. A desert oasis was a place of fantasy, right? This very much felt like one, and Castiel would be damned if he at least didn’t get his 20% “see the world” from this whole trip. He decided to spend that time walking around getting to know the intricacies of this alien world around him.

Palm trees lined where the circuit was in Sakhir, Bahrain, but the city area was where it looked almost as if it were a snapshot from New York City. Castiel found himself walking along store-lined streets that were about to close for the night, their attendants ending their days just like he was. He almost found himself thinking he needed to take the subway if he was going to make it back to his room before night fully crept in to sleep.

The streets themselves were sparsely populated, only a few groups of people here and there. It only occurred to him then that he was alone walking in a strange place, not having told even Frank that he would be leaving, when his instincts kicked in. It was good timing, too, for Castiel caught sight of someone tracking him after a few turns into less tourist-filled streets.

_Shit._

Castiel cursed himself. He had no weapon of any kind to defend himself, no way of calling for help should his phone be taken away, and barely a clue as to how to return to the hotel, his mind not having taken enough time to process just where it was he had walked. He felt himself quicken his pace, but not before a hand grabbed his shoulder and gripped tightly, labored breathing ghosting the back of his neck where his trench coat didn’t cover.

_Shit shit shit._

He felt himself turn and closed his eyes immediately, more out of reflex than voluntary movement. If he could just punch and kick then maybe he’d hit something that could let him get away—

“Cas! For God’s sake, quit throwing like a girl!”

Castiel opened his eyes just in time to stop himself from punching one Dean Winchester, clad in the same sweater and glasses get up as when they’d spoken previously, in the face.

“D…Dean?” Castiel gasped. “What the hell are you doing here following me around like a criminal?” He couldn’t help but feel defensive. He was running off the fight or flight response his body had conjured up.

“Saving your life, asshat,” Dean shot back. “Did anyone ever tell you that going outside at night here is just about as smart as waving a sign in the air saying ‘Hey, come steal my life and savings!’” Dean waved his right hand up in the air to mock the motion. Castiel found himself laughing despite himself.

“How was I supposed to know that, Dean?”

Dean sighed. “Honestly, Frank just wants you to fail if he didn’t have the decency to get you a bodyguard or something, Green.”

Castiel rolled his eyes at the nickname before he looked at Dean, tilting his head in confusion. “Up until I noticed you walking behind me, I did not see anything remotely dangerous, just people ending their nights silently and quietly.”

“Well… okay I’ll give you that ‘cause I didn’t see any either, but still, better be safe than sorry and walk in groups, Green.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fine, then. Blue it is. Matches your eyes anyway.” Dean gave him a stupid smile, like it was a personal victory that Dean found his way around to saying that.

Castiel merely scoffed. “If I am Blue, then you are Green.”

"Well, you see. My eyes are green and I’m not exactly new, so you’re just stuck with Dean until you can find something better.”

“… Fine, ‘Assbutt’ it is then.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding. ‘Assbutt’? I almost prefer Green.”

Castiel found himself turning around to continue walking, fully expecting Dean to follow. “Nicknames stick to people, and the most ridiculous are the most adhesive.”

“Yeah well, ‘Assbutt’ is gonna have to be vetoed there, Cas.” True to his predictions, Dean walked right next to him, sunglasses now tucked away from sight.

They turned a few streets in silence, Castiel considering all of the stores and even venturing into those that were still open. Dean merely followed, seemingly content with the same, but Castiel swore that Dean was looking at him whenever he was looking at a store item or a street sign. It carried on like this for one more street before Dean broke the silence.

“You’re not asking about the crash.”

“I did not know if you wished to talk about it, but I am concerned, yes.”

Dean lowered his head a little. “Well you know what they say, excessive bed rest and lots of lotion leave a man feeling better and with skin as smooth as a baby’s bottom.”  He paused, probably waiting for the other man to laugh. Castiel didn’t. “I’m healing. It’s not the worst I’ve even been in, but like hell if I was gonna let Adam run in my car after a stunt like that.”

Castiel smirked at his indignation. Of course Dean would be fiery, his adrenaline pushing past the pain Castiel knew he must be feeling. Castiel said nothing more for a while as they continued walking, turning the corner onto yet another semi-deserted street. Even with the comfortable silence between them, however, Castiel couldn’t shake the feeling that came whenever he thought of Dean in pain.

“The streets remind me of university,” he tried to change the subject, taking in the smells of incense that emanated from storefronts that were still open to divert his thoughts elsewhere. The streets, in actuality, were littered with garbage and paper cups half-filled with food, the incense itself masking other odors Castiel didn’t want to talk about, but he felt it a good ice breaker as any that would take them on a conversation not related to Dean’s health status.

“Yeah?” Dean didn’t sound surprised. “It’s been less than a month and you’re homesick?”

“It reminds me of my apartment and my friend Hannah back in the states. We would go out towards the tourist areas like this at night to see how the city lights could blind us from what else was actually there. New York is very much like this, Dean. There are just more people.” Castiel grew quiet after that, considering Dean’s words fully. Was he homesick? Is this what it felt like? New York wasn’t even where he was born, but it was where he’d spent much of his adult college life. It was where his friends were, even if he had no family. Is that what people call home? He felt his face scrunch at the thought.

“It helps to talk about them, you know.” Sensing Castiel’s thoughts, Dean leaned in and gently prodded the other man’s arm. “And plus, I barely know a thing about you.”

“The same could be said from me to you.”

“Fine, twenty questions then.” The other man’s voice sounded light, like he’d been waiting to say that phrase. Castiel rolled his eyes with a smile. To think that he thought Dean was a mugger mere minutes before.

He paused for a beat, weighing his options about where to start. “I am not ordinary, Dean. My life can most likely best be summed up by one giant middle finger.”

“Where’s that quote from?”

“Nowhere. I am being serious.” Castiel caught Dean nodding out of the corner of his eye, but the other man said nothing more. Castiel took it as an invitation.

“I suppose the best way to start would be by telling you I am adopted. I do not know who my birth parents are, only that they were people that suffered greatly without having to bring a child into the mix. I was raised by a tyrant of a woman that called herself my aunt who only wished to mold me, which is why I escaped Illinois as quickly as I could muster. I wanted a better life, so I applied for college out of state and found myself without a home for a time.” he paused. “You quickly realize the cruelty in this world when it is you that needs help. That was when I met Hannah. She had offered to help me find a job and a place to stay. We became close. She was the closest thing to a sister that I have ever had.” And so, on it went. Castiel found himself unable to stop after the first few sentences, telling Dean about the ramshackle house in Pontiac that was next door to another beautiful home with a family that had a little daughter he used to babysit. Those were the real Novaks. Castiel took the name because he felt more a Novak than anything Naomi ever was. “Castiel is my birth name, the name of a wayward angel I barely understand, but I don’t even know my last name.”

Dean didn’t say a word the entire time Castiel spoke. He didn’t pry, didn’t gasp at the horrible accounts, didn’t even bat an eyelash when Castiel told him about the things Naomi did to him to get him to comply. He just… listened, and for once it was nice for Castiel to just dump it all out like that, to tell his life to a near total stranger without expecting any sort of judgement.

The minute he thought of that part, however, Castiel grew reserved once more. Dean probably thought of him as a man with too many problems that somehow found himself in an internship of a lifetime that was practically handed to him since he has no idea how he got it. Why did Castiel even say all of that? He’d never told that much to Hannah, and he has known Hannah for years. He’d only just met Dean less than a month ago.

“You got quiet,” was all Dean said instead.

“I’m sorry for having troubled you with all of that. That was more than twenty questions.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me about your life, Cas. What matters is the choices that you made that lead you here, to the other side of the world, away from all of that.”

Castiel looked at Dean then, looking for any hint of pity in the green eyes that stared back at him with the same level of intensity. He instead found eyes that looked as if the words have been said more than once.

Castiel merely nodded but said nothing more. Dean was different than Castiel. He didn’t live through the same experiences, and yet here he was telling Castiel that his past didn’t define him, what mattered was the present. _The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed._ It was one of Castiel’s favorite quotes, but he’d never realized what it meant until that moment.

When he looked around him once again Castiel realized they had somehow made their way back to the hotel. “You led us back to reality it seems.”

“Yeah, feels like we went through some apocalyptic wasteland, didn’t it?” Dean grinned. “But we took choices and they led us back to where we are now. That’s something, Cas.”

“Are you, Dean Winchester, attempting to be philosophical?”

“Hey, I read. I can be deep.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, proceeding the older Winchester to break out into a grin. “Though I have yet to hear anything about you, you should rest for tomorrow’s race.”

Dean was about to respond when his phone rang violently, a hard rock ballad belting out like an alarm in the middle of the night. He shot Castiel an apologetic smile before answering. “… Hey Billie…” There was violent shouting on the other end.  “Yeah, no I just stepped out of the party for some air. I’m fine, I’m fine. I’ll be inside in five to rest up. Just take the rest of the night off and enjoy yourself.” A pause. “Okay, sounds good.” He ended the call and put a hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“A friend?” Castiel felt like he should ask.

“That was my handler and security team head.” Dean pulled his hand back through his hair. “She kinda ripped me a new one about disappearing.”

Castiel was shocked. He felt like an idiot for not having realized the implications of Dean meeting him earlier. “You slipped passed your security team just to follow me into the streets, Dean? Do you realize how bad that will look if someone had seen you alone?” Had they not had this conversation before?

“But they didn’t, Cas, and besides, I saw you leave the party and you can’t be out by yourself in a place like this,” Dean countered, a hint of humor in his voice that Castiel was not in the mood for.

“It’s _not_ dangerous, Dean! And I can handle myself, you know.”

“I’m sure you can, Angel, but that doesn’t mean I regret it.”

… _What?_

Castiel stood there for a second, eyeing Dean like something new was just given to him. Dean seemed to have realized what he had said and quickly cleared his throat before clapping Castiel on the shoulder.

“I-I’ll see you tomorrow at the race or after, b-but I was serious about what I said before. We really should stop meeting like this.” He flashed Castiel a smile before he was gone, disappearing back into the hotel as quick as the race car he drove.

…

… _What?_

Before Castiel could turn or make any movement back to his own hotel next door, Frank emerged from the hotel Dean had entered, slightly drunk but sober enough to recognize a very confused Castiel in the middle of the street. “THERE you are, Novak! For God’s sake man, quit disappearing or you’ll be on invisible cord duty!” he muttered as he manhandled Castiel in the direction of their hotel and away from the one Castiel had been standing in front of.

 _Really, it’s not a bad place,_ was all Castiel could think to himself as he begrudgingly said his goodbyes and retreated to his own personal room. The walk had done enough to tire him out, meaning sleep would be less of a hassle than it usually was. Castiel welcomed the pillows that overtook him not too long after, his body motionless the minute it hit the bed, but his mind took a while to fully shut down.

  _…Angel?_

~

 

Castiel was the first one awake out of the crew except for Frank, feeling rested and ready to cover his second Grand Prix Sunday event. His legs didn’t ache from walking yesterday, and his morning run today left them flexible and loose for the work day ahead. It was racing time.

He met Frank downstairs towards noon. This race was one that started late and ended in the night, the lights on the track blanketing the day as the laps kept going up and the sun kept going down. It was an amazing set-up they had in Bahrain, the lights only on one side of the track and yet still at a specific place so as to not cause shadows on the cars or cause glare in drivers’ faces. Whoever designed it did so with humanity in mind, something Castiel had never seen in New York, where everything was either too bright or too dim. Melbourne hadn’t been like this at all, so it might as well have been an alien race to Castiel. Everything was alien here.

“Because it’s a night race we’ve got a little more leeway in terms of speaking, so we’ll be up top in the paddock for the most part. Congrats, kid, you get to watch one for a while unless someone does something stupid.” Frank motioned for Castiel to follow him out of the hotel to where their taxis awaited them. A short drive later, they found themselves at the Bahrain International Circuit, a place that, today, was a hive of activity.

Every team was making sure their two cars were ready for regulation check that the race stewards oversaw, the drivers going over last minute strategies before they were due to get in. Castiel caught sight of arguably the biggest flag (it was giant) he had ever seen, so big it could easily cover the side of a small apartment building in New York. It was the Bahrain flag, displayed proudly and whipping in the wind as people continued to move within pit lane and the paddock.

Due to this being a fly-away race, there were not as many celebrities in the paddock as Castiel had seen in the previous race. This was probably one of the reasons as to why Frank was being so uncharacteristically lax. They were commentating occasionally whenever Gabriel wished to speak with on-site reporters, otherwise Frank and Castiel were no more than fans in celebrity seats. Castiel figured this was the most he would be sitting the entire season, should nothing go wrong. His mind instantly flashed back to the accident in Melbourne, and without meaning to, Castiel’s eyes searched for the Ferrari garage below them.

Sam was outside, already in his car, the lap of reconnaissance window about to start where the cars could go around the circuit to get a feel for the track before they had to start their formation lap, a separate lap where all the drivers would go around the circuit once before taking their final positions on the grid together. Dean and his car, on the other hand, were still in the garage itself and out of Castiel’s line of sight. Half the team looked confident while the other half looked worried; Castiel assumed they were concerned over Dean’s wellbeing as well.

“And with that, folks, it’s time for the cars to start making their merry way around the track to greet our lovely, lovely fans here in Bahrain!” Gabriel’s voice boomed through the paddock club, causing Castiel to turn his attention to the nearest monitor that was placed above him. “We’ve got eighteen out of the twenty cars lined up in pit lane and are just waiting for stragglers, but the officials should be letting them rip momentarily. “ Sure enough, Charlie’s car in the front began to move within seconds of Gabriel having spoken. “And we’ve got Bradbury kicking off the formation lap, followed by the two Ferraris that are out of order, but that’s not important now anyway. Sit tight folks, we’re about to turn up the volume in just two hot minutes.”

Castiel made his way to a vacant seat, seeing Dean’s car leave just after Sam and Charlie’s. A red helmet on a red car was a stark contrast to Sam’s blue and yellow helmet on a red car, but it allowed for distinguishing them to be at least a little easier than it was to read numbers. Castiel found himself sitting next to Frank and watching the world around him. He only had a few minutes before the race itself actually bega—

“Oh, what’s this? Plot twist, ladies and gents! Winchester’s engine looks like it caught fire!”

Castiel turned his attention back to the screens upon hearing Gabriel’s exclamations. Sure enough, black smoke was billowing out of the engine that was seated right above Dean’s head, the entire car’s rear beginning to heat up and give off smoke as well. Dean seemed to sense it enough to turn out and away from the rest of the drivers that were still warming up their tires as he stopped on the other side of the track towards the center, the smoke now hinting the first few licks of the fire that no doubt raged inside.

“Guess we’re not gonna have as much of a break as we thought,” Castiel heard Frank mutter as Gabriel continued on about engine failures and Dean’s second retirement, this one thankfully not as severe as the one before. He heard the Ferrari team radio over broadcast out over Gabriel’s voice, Dean’s voice clear as he spoke with his team.

 

        DEAN: Engine failure, probably from last race’s crash… Dammit guys… I’m out.

        TEAM: Stop the car and get out. We will figure it out.

 

Of course neither party sounded happy, Castiel knew what Dean must be feeling. He had yet to even finish a race this season, which was probably a much bigger deal than Castiel understood at the moment.

“With that, it looks like the much taller and more flexible Winchester will be starting third for Bahrain, then. An empty spot will be left for where Dean’s car would have been. That allows for Benny Laffite to get a really good start and make use of that gap. Sam better watch his back for the French vampire! Or at least, he will as soon as this red flag is lifted when Dean Winchester’s car is taken off the track.” Just like that, Gabriel was back to commentating about how the fire department put out the flames and a crane was called in to remove Dean’s car. The race was put on hold under a “red flag” while all this was carried out, the remaining drivers themselves simply waiting and attempting to keep their tires from cooling off while also not blowing their breaks. The race wouldn’t start and go to a “green flag” until Dean’s car was fully and safely removed.

“At least it looks like they are strict about safety,” Castiel murmured.

The Formula One car was still on fire when Dean got out before the fire department showed up, but even Castiel could tell from the broadcast of Dean that he seemed shaken by it, staring stock still while his car’s fire was put out. There was something there… What was it? Castiel made a note to ask him why the next time they spoke, though that question felt like it would better be asked without a microphone or camera behind him. Regardless, Dean was out of the race and wasn’t going to talk to anyone right now, that much Castiel had learned.

“Engine failure happens from time to time, especially after cars sustain damage or just get pushed a little too hard, folks,” Gabriel spoke as the car was taken off the track and debris was cleared. He was filling the air time while the race was on hold. “The team will just replace the engine for the next race in China. No harm, no foul. Well, foul because of a grid spot penalty, but details, details.” He made a waving motion like it was unimportant, even though Castiel knew it was at least somewhat important. “Oh, well, it looks like the stewards and officials are clearing the red flag! It’s time to get racing, folks and gents! And the women, yes, of course the women as well.” He winked at the camera. Castiel couldn’t help but smirk. Gabriel was certainly a character.

The cars rolled into the grid spots that had been marked on the start/finish straight, a noticeable absence where Dean’s car would have been. Castiel wondered what Dean must be thinking right now, no doubt having a conversation with his engineers. If anything, it gave Dean two more weeks to rest before the next race in China, and for that Castiel chose to see a win, even if it would cost Dean points. _Positive anything is better than negative nothing._

“And with the countdown commencing, it’s go time for the Bahrain Grand Prix!” Gabriel’s voice boomed over the paddock, the sound of the crowd roaring outside deafening. It felt just like it had in Melbourne to Castiel, the adrenaline rising as the cars impatiently waited for the lights to go off and for them to start moving. Everything had a time and with that time came a distance. The lights went off and the race was on.

Sam got an excellent lead, keeping Benny behind him and quickly overtaking Michael’s Red Bull, leaving him in the dust to chase after Charlie. They all looked like a herd of wildebeest barreling down the turns and straights, slowly evening out until they were no longer bunched up. Sam was still in second while Charlie ran away like a crimson road runner. In the back, the other drivers were duking it out for points-paying positions, the last position to score points being 10th place, but the bulk of the action remained in the front.

Castiel was transfixed, watching how Sam would lose and gain positions to Michael and Crowley, the biggest upsets happening when the sunlight finally gave way into the night. Lights blazed all around the circuit, giving the cars a futuristic glow the desert had taken from them. There were battles to overtake everywhere, cars coming in to change tires while others tried to edge out their leads to do the same. There were even a few more retirements: Ed Zeddmore from The Ferrari Facers team and Mick Davies from the Men of Letters team, one due to spinning out and the other due to car problems.

Every few laps when there was a lull in the action, the broadcast would fade into a shot of Dean sitting on the pit wall that faced the start/finish straight, noise cancelling headphones the same color as the Italian team covering his ears. It was odd for drivers to speak to one another during races, mainly because they were still completing against one another, but Dean’s voice radioed Sam’s car from time to time to let him know when to come in to change tires or what was going on around him. Even Gabriel was stumped as to why, but Castiel would bet money that it was because Dean needed to feel like he was doing something, even if that something was helping his little brother and competitor score the most points he could for their team.

Gabriel did end up calling on Castiel to speak in the pit lane two or three times during the race, Castiel delivering his own commentary in as little words as possible so as to not incriminate himself by saying something that was not true. He even earned a smile from Frank on his last one as the checkered flag was brought out for the final lap. All of the light was on the circuit now as Charlie’s car raced behind Sam’s in the battle for first. They were going into the last few turns when Charlie edged her way on the inside line going into the final turn, effectively forcing Sam to move out and let her pass unless he wanted to force her off track. It was enough for the win, Charlie taking the flag with Sam milliseconds behind to take second. Michael ended up taking third place to round out the podium, but not before the broadcast turned to Dean, fist pumping in the air as the rest of the team celebrated a podium spot. Castiel could feel the excitement even in the paddock, favoritism be damned.

“Let’s hope whatever poor excuse for a journalist they get will be smart enough to ask Sam about his brother’s engine failure,” Frank muttered behind him. They picked up their equipment and made their way to where the rest of the reporters and journalists would be to watch the podium and champagne ceremonies. Castiel did not question his senior journalist, but he could sense the animosity. The poor celebrity that had given the interviews in Melbourne obviously had only been there for the publicity, not having a single clue as to what Formula One was about. Castiel hadn’t blamed the guy at the time, given how inexperienced he was (and still is), but he still wouldn’t want to be up there in his state either.

Fortunately, due to the lack in celebrities willing to interview, a fellow network journalist and former driver conducted the on-podium interviews after the winning driver and team’s national anthems had been played. He spoke to Michael first, making his way from third to first in small talk and questions. This was the part meant for the fans that now crowded just a little under where the podium was elevated, themselves having stormed the start/finish straight after the cars had all cleared the finish line. The reporter did ask Sam about Dean’s car much to Frank’s glee, but Sam professionally evaded the question by saying while he did not know what the team concluded, his car ran fine.  “We’re still brothers first, and Dean’s voice over the radio was a nice thing to hear to keep me focused and score as many points as I can.”

The reporter talked to Charlie as well, asking her about being a woman in a male-dominated sport. She took it all in stride, her hair up in a ponytail and looking as if she would not take no for an answer. Castiel found himself instantly liking her after he proclaimed that she was not only the _only_ girl, but also the _only_ one to leave with every girl’s number at a party where the guys could barely get one. _Every driver has a story to tell… it is interesting how they all intertwine._

Castiel found himself get swept up in the party later that night, enjoying it for once after a race where he could still breathe after it ended. The drivers were all resting, but Castiel somehow still found himself waiting outside of the drivers’ hotel in the hopes to talk to Dean about the race. He thought he saw someone inside the lobby moving around, but no one came out. Castiel was about to leave for his hotel when he felt eyes on him, though from where they were coming from he could not tell. He returned to his hotel room with a huff, thoughts dwelling on how frozen Dean looked despite there being an entire race to remember as well.

There was something in Dean’s look… he did not know what it was, but he also did not know if Dean would want him to know. After all, in their midnight stroll Castiel had told Dean about a life he does not wish to think about, and in all that time he learned nothing about Dean Winchester himself. _The shortest distance between two people is a story._ But to Castiel, Dean’s pages were still barely written in.

_Just sleep until China. There is nothing more you can do now._

And so, after several hours of tossing and turning, Castiel did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can. – Arthur Ashe 
> 
> Information networks straddle the world. Nothing remains concealed. But the sheer volume of information dissolves the information. We are unable to take it all in. – Gunter Grass 
> 
> The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place. – George Bernard Shaw 
> 
> Right actions in the future are the best apologies for bad actions in the past – Tyron Edwards 
> 
> “Nicknames stick to people, and the most ridiculous are the most adhesive.” - Thomas Chandler Hailburton
> 
> The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed. - Carl Jung
> 
> Positive anything is better than negative nothing – Elbert Hubbard 
> 
> The shortest distance between two people is a story – Patti Digh 
> 
> Fun Facts:
> 
> "Giant Flag" is actually a real game the journalists play during their time in Bahrain. You can check out [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0aWy-_LTkIM) of two of the journalists and their experience as well as give you a visual on where Dean and Cas are.


	3. China

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Sam W. (43 points)  
> Charlie B (43 points)  
> Michael S. (27 points)  
> Lucifer M. (25 points)  
> Gadreel P. (16 points)  
> Kevin T. (18 points)  
> Balthazar R. (14 points)  
> Crowley M. (12 points)  
> Ash H. (6 points)  
> Benny L. (3 points)

For a country with well over one billion people, the simple idea that the airport would only be mildly filled was a severe misconception. Castiel found himself facing a sea of fans all carrying multicolored offerings written in both Chinese and English, all crowded behind the makeshift barricades outside the terminal exit doors. The fans themselves were overtly eager and ready, cameras poised for the minute their favorite driver would emerge from the doors, which is why he saw all of their faces drop when the first wave turned out to be the crew and not the drivers. Frankly speaking, it was rather amusing in some regard, but it gave time for Castiel to exchange pleasantries as he followed behind Frank and the rest of the crew. Some fans recognized him enough to wave, something Castiel was not expecting in the slightest.

“You’re on air and you’re in the drivers’ age range. Get used to it, kid,” Frank called over his shoulder as Castiel caught up with the senior reporter after one particular fan had asked for a picture. “They’re really here for the drivers, but the hardcore ones know who we are by name, too.”

It was an interesting thought, one Castiel couldn’t help but smile at. The possibility of him having any sort of fan base was entirely absurd. He was just a man that found himself in a profession he knew nothing about. He himself was ordinary; what could others see in him that would warrant entire signs be erected? Not that there were any for Castiel, but he did catch a few for Kevin, Sam, and Dean, among others.

“Hurry it up and quit gawking,” one of the camera operators on Castiel’s crew said. “We’re gonna miss the train if you don’t catch up.” Castiel did what he was told. They had to take a train?

As it turns out, they were not taking just any sort of train. China had the incredible machine that was the magnetic levitation train set to take them out of the airport and towards Shanghai. It was the main form of transportation between the hubs and it. Goes. Fast.

Castiel quickly entered the train and looked around. The compartments resembled that of average London coach areas akin to those found in _Harry Potter_ , only the compartments didn’t have doors and everything was out in the open. For the most part, people seemed to keep to themselves, all sporting some sort of entertainment device on to keep them busy for the twenty minutes that it would take to cross Shanghai. The train had a top speed nearly identical to the Formula One cars at just over 250 miles per hour, but even then Castiel figured he would take what little time he did have to bury his nose in a book.

He hadn’t gotten a lot of downtime between races like he thought he would, either spending that time talking to Frank or learning more about the sport and the drivers instead. There were secrets in this sport, some even deeper than Castiel had originally realized. More than once he had found himself with more questions than answers during his time researching, and any questions that could be answered were instead silenced by drivers or crew members of different teams during the interim between races. Not even the heads of the sport and the mystery person that was paying him was available to be questioned, but that didn’t surprise Castiel. It was just all so… the word “bizarre” fails to cover it entirely.

Castiel closed his eyes and sighed, hearing the last of the crew shuffle in and an overhead voice announcing that the doors were closing in different languages. He had picked up a bit of Chinese in school simply because he enjoyed learning languages, but not enough to be fluent or to read more than where the bathroom was. Thankfully many of the signs around him were also displayed in English.

His book of choice was an old Vonnegut again, _Slaughterhouse Five._ It had probably been read at least a dozen times or so now, but he enjoyed the writing style and needed a break from fast cars and secrets. Why not turn to a book centered around World War II?

“You weren’t kidding when you said you liked quotes, huh?” A voice caused Castiel to lift his eyes from the first page. They landed on a man with the same dark cap, sunglasses, and sweater combo he had seen the last few days sitting across from him, glasses tilted down to reveal a spark of green.

“What are you doing here, Dean?” Castiel breathed, half recovered from the surprise. The train shook briefly, signaling the start of the ride. They were on their way out of the airport. Dean was supposed to be with the other drivers that were meant to already be at the circuit or at the hotel. The crew had been the last people to arrive this time, despite the fans waiting at the airport.

“What, a guy can’t go see someone at the airport these days?” Dean smirked.

“You… came back?”

That seemed to cause Dean to realize what he had said. “I mean, I just came to see how the network was doing and needed to get away. The train’s a good place to do that, and it’s fast.”

“…I have noticed.” Castiel tilted his head in confusion. By then, the train had begun to reach 150 mph, the scenery becoming all but wisps as the train blew past. “When did you arrive?”

“‘Bout two or three days ago, give or take. Our schedules change depending on the country, but China’s a good place to sightsee. That, and we had to work on some things as a team.” Dean’s expression made it clear he didn’t want to talk about it. Castiel knew enough not to push. “What about you? I’m assuming you’ve just been on planes or something this whole time.”

Castiel closed his book. He was not going to be reading as long as Dean was here, and besides, Castiel wanted to ask Dean things as well. He still barely knew the other driver, green eyes still shrouded in mystery. “Frank has been trying to tell me about one thing or another, but he is still deep searching about what happened in Australia. There’s rumors flying everywhere, so he’s been making me go talk to different constructors and representatives to try to find an answer.”

“Which I’m assuming resulted in jack with a side of squat.”

“That is eloquently putting it.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, well, welcome to the sport. If you hadn’t hit at least one wall then you were never gonna get anywhere here.”

“I will try to take that as a compliment, but considering I knew there would be walls to begin with, I am not sure where I would stand on the matter.” Castiel felt himself smile just before he felt the train begin to decelerate, the houses no longer as rectangular as they had been when they were blowing by the cityscape. The train was arriving to Shanghai.

That really was fast…

“This train does not take you all the way to the circuit?” he thought aloud.

“No,” Dean waved his hand at the scenery. “That was the original plan, but it took a crap ton of money to make it even into Shanghai that they thought enough was enough for now. I only know that ‘cause I asked about it, too.” Dean continued to look at the world outside, how the town moved and the lights blared, the city filled to the brim with people, cars, bicycles, and everything in between. “We’ll probably be taking cars or something similar to get to the actual track.” It was small talk, what they were doing, but Castiel still had questions of his own. Now might be the only time to as them.

“Dean,” He started. “Do you––”

“Now arriving, Shanghai terminal. Watch your step as you exit the train,” a charming voice echoed over the speakers, ending any chance at conversation as Dean began to gather his backpack and stand up.

“Listen, I won’t be able to walk out with you, but here,” he pulled out a piece of paper with something on it already written. “Just, so we can talk without having to find each other in places that might cause one of us to get yelled at.” He looked hopeful but frightened, as if Castiel would reject him.

Castiel took the paper and inspected the writing. Numbers greeted him.

It was Dean’s phone number. _Well, that made life easier._

“I will Dean. Good luck on the race.”

“Look at you, being impartial,” Dean joked.

“All judges have cases that touch our passions deeply, but we all struggle constantly with remaining impartial,” Castiel spoke without quite realizing how that quote could also be interpreted.

Dean looked away from Cas, a hand coming to rest behind his neck. “Y-yeah. Okay, Blue. I’ll… see you out there.” He looked around before seeming realize where he was. “Bye, Cas.” Dean left without another word, his frame melting into the crowd of people exiting the train.

  _… Here we go again,_ Castiel thought to himself.

~

 

“I told you, take three turns right and then one turn left to get to the media center, Novak!” Frank’s voice bellowed on the other end of Castiel’s phone. He had mistakenly thought most paddocks were some sort of standard across the world, but China was a maze in and of itself entirely. He was already late for the first practice, though it wasn’t being televised this time. Not that it mattered; Frank was still chewing his head out.

“I tried that, but I found myself back at the hospitality wing, Frank,” Castiel repeated himself for what felt like the twentieth time in the last twenty minutes. The entire paddock portion of the behind-the-scenes area was suspended over a botanical garden, bridges connecting each building until it reached the actual race track and pit lane. There was no straight path here; everything had to be complicated.

Castiel found himself sighing. He was normally good with finding patterns and figuring out how to get out of mazes, but this was something else.

“Stay where you are. I’ll come get you.” Frank’s annoyance was not quiet.

Castiel heard the call end before he inspected where he had found himself. The hospitality wing was nice, pristine in both location and scenery. He peered down to where the bridges formed a square, the trees and gardens sprouting around the area to give a breathtaking oasis as the water flowed down a waterfall and into the lake below. Castiel could see the beauty behind the idea, even if this God forsaken place could do with a decent map.

“Looks like the little bird lost his way, huh?” a voice called from behind Castiel, one he knew but never had met in person. “Maybe he just needs a big brother to help him out?”

Castiel turned just in time to prepare himself for a bear hug from the man that smelled too much like the inside of a chocolate factory.

“Hello, Gabriel,” he responded as he began to see sugar coated stars caused by the other man’s grip. He had known Gabriel to be a personality with the few times they had spoken on air, but he knew nothing of how the man was off-screen. Castiel wormed his way out of Gabriel’s grasp before he continued speaking. “Shouldn’t you be in the booth?”

“They’re not televising this race, bro. I’m taking my vacations where I can get ‘em.”

“Why are you calling me bro?” The question slipped out before Castiel caught himself. It’s not like it mattered, but still Castiel wanted to know why this man instantly thought of familial terms in relation to him, of all people.

Gabriel smiled, as if he was laughing at his own private joke. “Because this sport is a family, Castiel. You’re a brother whether you like it or not,” he winked. “But, details. I wanna know how you’re holding up, bucko. How’s the world been treating you? Find anything you like, or better yet, _someone_ you like?” He had the gall to wiggle his eyebrows.

Castiel rolled his eyes, his heart responding without preamble. “I am handling myself well, thank you for asking.” He paused, “I have gotten to know a lot of different people. Frank said networking was important in this line of work.”

Gabriel frowned. “While that’s true, Cassie, what’s more important is finding someone to spend your time outside of this world with. They’ll help you take the edge off. It helped me.”

“I did not know you were seeing someone, if that is any indication.”

Gabriel’s eyes softened, remembering. “She was a reporter that worked with the commentators specifically back at HQ where I am most of the time anyway. Temper, that one, let me tell you. But, yeah. She made this fast-paced hell slow down every once in a while.” he chuckled, toying around with a lollipop that seemed to come out of nowhere. “What I mean to say is, working like the soldiers that we become in this business can haunt you more than help you if you don’t have a sweet person to come home to.”

Castiel found himself chuckling at that despite himself. “I am happy to hear you are concerned for my love life, but I do not think there will be any of that.”

“You never know, Cassie,” Gabriel tisked, his head turned towards one of the oases that the bridges overlooked. “You never know. That’s how I met my soulmate, after all.” Gabriel’s words were laden with double entendre, but Castiel could not figure out why. “Gotta run, but you know this place; I’ll be at the media center by the time you make it to the third bridge!” Gabriel was gone just as quickly as he had arrived before Castiel had a moment to ask him anything further. He found himself alone for about two seconds before Frank’s booming voice caused him to turn around in the other direction.

“Interns,” He heard Frank mutter before grabbing Castiel’s shoulder and guiding him to the media center efficiently. All it took was another right before Castiel found himself amongst other reporters and journalists also watching the first practice session.

Because it wasn’t televised, there wasn’t much for them to do but wait and watch, occasionally writing down lap times for drivers or noting how weather conditions faired. Even the cameramen were playing around, testing camera angles they could use and other ideas before it really counted. Frank sat Castiel down and pulled out a notebook, a list scrawled on it.

“Alright, kid. Part of this job is interviewing drivers, which you already know,” he started, his age starting to show. “But the network is pushing for more ‘heartfelt’ interviews now. I’ve been covering them until now and I’ll keep doin’ most of ‘em, but you’re going to be doing driver spotlights starting in Russia. I’m gonna take Ketch, but you’re interviewing Morningstar.”

Castiel digested the information. He had seen Lucifer race, though whenever Frank had interviewed the current champion from last year’s season, Lucifer seemed rather standoffish. Sochi was the next race, however. It gave Castiel just enough time to prepare. “And after Russia?”

Frank peered at his list. “In no particular order, you’ll also be doing Bradbury and then Sam and Dean when we go to Italy. I’ll take care of the others, but you seem to have more luck with the Winchesters than I do to get info outta them.”

Castiel stiffened, but remained silent.

“I’m still on the trail for this supposed lover, by the way.” If Frank noted Castiel’s lack of voice, he dismissed it. “Even if there’s no evidence, I’m gonna find out the truth,” Frank looked determined. Castiel opted to turn to the sound of the cars while the practice session continued instead of replying.

For what it was worth, the first practice session wasn’t all that glamorous by diehard fans’ standards. It wasn’t televised for a reason, but Castiel found himself looking at the cars while they raced past anyway, mentally keeping a count of how fast they must be going while the drivers tested what they needed to. It was easier for him to understand now, but that did not mean he was fluent in the art of the car. Sam and Dean’s respective cars sat idle in their shared garage for a while until near the end of the two-and-a-half-hour time.

Dean’s car was out first, his red helmet camouflaging his head with the car’s body. It zoomed down pit lane and was gone in the blink of an eye, a red streak stark against the blacktop. Sam’s car followed suit not too long after. Castiel found himself staring through the glass in the media center whenever either car came through a minute and a half later. He still hadn’t gotten the chance to really talk to Dean yet, and it did not look like he would anytime soon over this weekend either. Gabriel’s “advice” didn’t help his mind in the slightest.

_You never know, Cassie. You never know..._

He’d never really thought about it before, finding someone in “this world,” mainly because he barely knew this world at all. It was still so new, so foreign. There were so many things he hardly understood, let alone knew how they functioned and worked. Finding someone and adding that stress to his plate right now just seemed like it would be a nail in a coffin, and yet…

The red streak zoomed through once more, like a target leading him somewhere he had yet to dare to dream about.

Castiel shook his head to clear his thoughts. The final countdown for the first practice session ended with a buzz.

He just needed to sleep it off. That’s all.

~

 

In a surprising twist of events, Qualifying day actually helped Castiel. Sleep hadn’t come the night before, though he had been half expecting for that to have been the case anyway. Dean also had not texted or called him, thus evading whatever chance he could have to speak to the other man. Qualifying was a day to focus on the race and drown everything else out, which is exactly what Castiel did. It was “Go Fast” day for the cars, therefore fast he would go as well.

If he were being evaluated somehow, he would bet that his boss would have given him some sort of praise for the amount of running around that he did during the Qualifying sessions. Cars and their engines rumbled in anticipation, each continuing to spark down the circuit as Castiel found himself spinning around and talking up and down the pit lane to drivers and team principals alike. He waved hello to Jo and Ellen once he made sure his camera crew wasn’t recording, and Castiel was able to get some good information regarding some of the lesser social drivers. He learned that Kevin was naturally shy even in what could be considered a home race of him; Crowley did not enjoy speaking with him but rather the camera, and Samandriel liked to be called Alfie instead. They were all interesting conversations in between Gabriel’s constant jabbering about how their junior reporter was getting lost in the paddock bridges. _This really was a world unlike any other,_ Castiel thought to himself.

The day finished in a blur and, thankfully, with no severe accidents or mishaps. There were a few drivers that veered off course from time to time and one poor soul whose engine caught fire (not Dean), but the final order for the following day’s race was Dean in the prime pole position of first place, Lucifer in second, and Crowley in third. Sam finished in fourth, which would put him on the same starting row as Crowley while Lucifer and Dean would have the open track to battle it out on race day. Or at least, that is what Castiel thought and had learned from his readings. _Perception and reality are two different things._

What caught his eye during the post-Qualifying debrief was the amount of water Dean began to consume from the minute he had left his car. The man looked like a starved animal in the desert, more than ten water bottles half empty in the background of some shots as he made his way to the debrief room.

Weird. Or maybe not.

 

~

 

Dean still hadn’t called that night, but Castiel didn’t expect him to… mostly. What he also didn’t expect was to see Dean start 5th on the qualifying grid instead of the place he earned during the actual Qualifying the day before. He knew he should know the reason, but nothing came to mind as to why Dean would not be in the place he should.

“I need you at pits, Novak,” Frank called from behind him as they walked to the media center that towered above the start/finish straight where the cars were currently being raided by every person known to man. There were drivers doing interviews next to their cars on the track, women holding signs in front of the cars with the drivers’ numbers and country flags, media personnel and cameras crowding around, and celebrities getting the VIP treatment as they walked from one place to the other amidst the seeming chaos of it all. From way up where Castiel was, it really did look like a sea of people, the colors only adding to the turbulence.

Despite all of that madness and the seeming impossibility of finding one person, Castiel easily caught sight of Dean’s car in 5th position, Dean himself standing just to the side talking to another network. He looked tired, either from the exhaustion that came from the race weekend or his injuries still affecting him. Castiel had not been a stranger to hearing the rumors, but having seen Dean snatch the top position really helped die those down. That only gave Castiel more confusion as to why Dean was suddenly in spot number 5 instead.

“Did you hear me?” Frank bopped Castiel on the head. “Quit gawking and go down there!”

“I-I’m not gawking,” Castiel retorted, the words not carrying the same annoyance he was trying to convey. Frank all but pushed him, demanding that he needed coverage on Sam, Dean, and Lucifer if he could manage it. “What specifics?” Castiel prompted. Frank probably knew why Dean was in 5th.

“Look at the weather and ask if they’re up for it. Also Dean about that lover he refuses to say the name of. Poke holes in his story,” Frank rattled off the information with about as much enthusiasm as he would if he were talking about a grocery list. Castiel couldn’t ask for anything else before he was all but thrown down the stairs and towards the track’s start/finish straight.

If seeing the view from above made it look like a sea, then Castiel found himself drowning far too quickly. The camera crew he was with had already been down on the track recording whatever else it was that they recorded when Castiel wasn’t around, but they seemed to find Castiel quickly enough to guide him around. He found himself asking questions to Crowley once more, but Lucifer froze out any sort of interview sessions before they could reach him. The race would be starting soon, so it was not altogether an odd move on his part that Castiel has noted. Still, Frank would not be happy that he wasn’t able to talk to Lucifer.

Most of the celebrities and non-personnel were already being cleared from the track in preparation for the race, but it gave Castiel just enough time to talk to one more person: either Sam or Dean; he would have to choose.

“Dean!” Castiel called to the man that was just a few feet away as the sea of people began to part. The oldest Winchester hadn’t heard him, his attention currently with a man Castiel did not recognize. He ultimately turned when Castiel all but ran up to him. _Calm down,_ he chastised himself, but time was on the clock.

Dean turned to Castiel, most likely having sensed another person’s presence. He flashed a giant smile before he saw the camera behind Castiel, his expression switching to restrain his smile so fast Castiel thought he had imagined it. “Do you have time for a quick question?”

 “Well if it’s just one,” Dean joked and waited.

Castiel ran through what Frank had wanted answered before he realized what it was that Frank had been alluding to. _Not asking that._ And with the fact that Castiel could already feel the first raindrops hitting him, it was highly likely that Dean had already been asked about the weather, too. _I shouldn’t ask that either then,_ Castiel huffed.

“Tongue tied?” Dean prodded. Castiel had forgotten that they were actually filming and most likely on actual air.

“N-no. My apologies.” There was only one real question Castiel hadn’t been able to answered yet, but to ask it might make him look like he didn’t know what he’s doing (which, to be fair, he still didn’t, not really). His mind reeled as he searched for a way to ask the question when a lightbulb went off.

“For those fans that may not be aware of why you are not, in fact, at the front of the starting line like you had originally qualified for, tell us why you are starting from 5th place and your outlook for the race,” Castiel spoke as swiftly as possible while still making sure Dean grabbed all parts of the question.

Like a pro, albeit while suppressing a smile, Dean himself tried to feign as if he was caught off guard. “Well since my engine gave out last race I had to get it replaced. That comes with a price in the shape of a grid spot penalty, but to fans that might be new it’s just technical stuff to make sure we don’t just keep replacing our car’s parts with new ones for every race.”

Oh. That makes sense.

Castiel was going to ask about the second half of the question when he felt Kelvin prod him from behind. They were out of time. “Thank you, Dean. Good luck on the race.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean nodded and turned quickly to walk back to his garage for final preparations. All personnel with the exception of the actual drivers and their cars were now being escorted away so that drivers could get inside and start their formation lap. It all sounded so technical, but to Castiel it jumbled more down to _get out of the way unless you want to get run over by a mini airplane in less than a minute._ The crew and he made it to the paddock media center (after getting lost for ten seconds, again) just in time to watch the start of the race. Castiel’s job was only halfway done for now, but he could spare enough time to sit down and actually watch the race for a little while.

“And we’re almost at lights out for this year’s Chinese Grand Prix coming out of the Shanghai International Circuit!” Gabriel’s voice filled the center and every nook and cranny of the circuit. How the guy had not yet managed to lose his voice would forever be a question that will have no answer to Castiel. “The Red Bull car of Lucifer Morningstar got off with a great lead in down front and it’s Sam right behind on the side as Crowley drops back—There’s Benny and Balthazar duking it out to get on the inside line towards the back of the pack coming into the first turn and look at the man of the hour Dean Winchester riding out and gaining ground despite those injuries going around in the papes—” Lap by lap the conversation continued, Gabriel sounding more like an auctioneer than a commentator, listing numbers, stats, and names before the cars started evening out. Castiel found himself staring and searching for that familiar red whenever he could. The sky wasn’t looking like it was going to lighten up anytime soon and Cas had yet to see a race in the rain. His body froze just thinking about it.

Laps wore on and action continued, the sky starting to darken about three quarters of the way through the race. Every cloud looked like a devil’s gate about to open from above. Castiel found himself doing sprints between the pit lane looking at car changes and the media center giving voice overs to a somehow not exhausted Gabriel.

On the track, Sam tried to inch into Lucifer during one of the turns, Dean right behind him, but Lucifer was a ruthless handler, closing both Winchesters out before they could complete their overtakes. Castiel assumed Dean had cursed Lucifer out more than once, even if the radios didn’t transmit it.

From time to time, Gabriel would stop talking to hear a team radio come over the monitor. That was one of the things that the people at home could hear that wasn’t coming from any sort of journalist, the radio. People could hear teams talking to their drivers and tell them when to come in to the pit lane to change tires or not, weather updates, or overall conversation. Castiel had already heard Lucifer nearly curse Sam out more than once while on radio, but his interest piqued against his will when he saw that there was a radio message coming in from Dean’s car about to interject in the broadcast.

The message itself was all technical terminology, to which Dean responded with equally as technical know-how.

 

DEAN: “Go for end of race.”

 

He sounded haggard, pained. Drivers shouldn’t be feeling pain, right?

 

TEAM: “How are you holding up?”

DEAN: “Fan-freaking-tastic.”

 

Granted, Castiel barely knew Dean, but he could tell when Dean didn’t want to talk about what was hurting him. His injuries from Australia must be worse than he let on even with nearly a month of healing in between.

“Knew it,” He heard Frank mutter beside him, computer already open and typing something. It didn’t sit well with Castiel, but he chose to refocus back on the race. It was nearing its end now, at least. Maybe he’d get a chance to really talk to Dean after, regardless of outcome.

“—Now back at the front of the track once more we’ve got Sam trying his, pardon my French, damnest to get past the Red Bull of Lucifer in front. Already the time gap between first, second, and third from the rest of the pack has stretched to twenty seconds. Looks like we’re going to have a pretty easy finish—oh hello, rain!” Gabriel greeted the following onslaught like an old friend.

It came in a tidal wave, sheets of rain pelting the ground with no signs of letting up. Within a matter of minutes the entire track was almost entirely drenched, and with it, the entire race changed.

Almost every car went in to change tires as quickly as they could, but those that were unlucky had to fight. Cars started spinning and crashing out, the more novice drivers never having encountered something like this in their professional careers before. Gabriel was somehow speaking even faster through all of it.

“We’ve got drama in Atlantis here as two team drivers Ed and Harry from the Formula Facers team run into puddles on track and spin out! Meanwhile in the front, a few of our veterans in the form of Morningstar and Crowley have spun a bit but managed to regain their footing on this slip and slide of what’s become of this track. Every car has switched to full wets and it looks like that’s how we’re ending this race, ladies and gents! I could use me a full wet to get home, looks like.”

Castiel thought the cars themselves would at least slow down to accommodate the rain; no way they would be crazy enough to drive this fast when you could barely stay on the track itself.

Of course they didn’t. If anything they _sped_ up.

And of course the best one on the track had to be Dean himself.

“Looks like Morningstar doesn’t like to swim! He’s making enough mistakes for the senior Ferrari driver to squeeze on through for first place and lead the race, his little brother not far behind him!” Gabriel continued commentating. There were only 5 laps to go before Castiel could calmly exhale the breath he was holding.

One wrong move, one step out of the dry line the cars were making, one misstep of _anything,_ and Sam and Dean’s red Ferraris could wind up being twisted around the nearest barricade.

Red is such an interesting color to correlate with emotion, because it’s on both ends of the spectrum. On one end you have happiness, falling in love, infatuation with someone, passion, all that. On the other end, you’ve got fear and danger.

Fitting, but that didn’t make things any less terrifying in that moment.

The chaos was working somehow. No one crashed out badly, and anyone that did was still alive and walked out of their cars. Sam, Dean, Lucifer, Charlie, and even Kevin were all still racing for the top few spots, the top three currently held by Dean, Sam, and Charlie in that order after Charlie managed to eke out of a straight and pass Lucifer. Dean was about a second in front, but the other three were pretty close together. It was looking good that Sam would hold out for the final lap.

Until it wasn’t.

“Look at the four-way battle way for the top of the race! Two Ferraris, one of which carries a driver that may not be 100%, one Red Bull with wings that do not seem to work in water, and one Toro Rosso with a redhead as fiery as the car she drives. What a way this could en—Lucifer has clipped Charlie Bradbury from behind!”

The following became a chain reaction:

Lucifer tried to get on the inside of one of the turns, the cars having to slow down exponentially in order to not risk just being unable to turn altogether, but instead of Lucifer turning in the direction of the track, he turned opposite, his front wing clipping Charlie’s rear tire and puncturing. The tire and the rain must have just not been a good combination, for Charlie’s tire all but exploded, debris catching Sam in just about every direction Castiel could see.

Sam’s car started jerking as he cleared the debris from where a piece had landed physically in his car, but it was enough for the tire’s traction to fail in the water. The younger Winchester fell out of the line, though not enough to crash.

It was enough for Lucifer to inch out ahead and finish the race, clinching second place while Sam took third. Charlie’s car crashed out entirely, Kevin ultimately taking her spot as she fell from the points board.

Just like that, the race was over, nearly everything changing at the very last second.

Castiel heard several media commentators, Gabriel and Frank included, instantly begin to talk and try to figure out the cause of the crash. Was it the water? Lucifer’s tact? Maybe Charlie didn’t give him enough room? Rumors flew instantaneously, all pointing fingers at different culprits as Dean’s car came up to park in the first place position.

If it had done anything, the last lap was enough to get Dean out of the public eye from questioning his injury, but that wouldn’t last for long. But maybe Dean’s ribs really were fine and Castiel was simply overthinking everything.

“Novak, get off your butt and hurry up! This race just got a lot more interesting,” Frank somehow was already on his way out the door and heading down toward to the press room. He may complain about being slow, but man was he fast. Or maybe that was just the sport. Castiel’s head was beginning to hurt, but his mind was elsewhere. And if he was honest, it had been the entire race.

 

~

 

It remained that way through the podium interviews and post-race interviews, all given by Frank as Castiel sat in the back to observe. Sam looked more than annoyed, but Castiel caught Dean patting Sam’s shoulder to get him to perk up, his fourth water bottle empty on the table in front of him. They’d probably been in the public eye for so long that they could not afford to lose their grip on the reality. The thought alone made him realize just how high of a profile Dean must have.

He tried not to keep his eyes focused on Dean, but that was made exponentially more difficult with Dean’s eyes trained on Castiel whenever he wasn’t on camera. It was almost as if he was waiting for Castiel to ask a question. Maybe he was, but what Castiel wanted to ask wasn’t something he could in front of cameras without showing favoritism… or something else.

Frank asked about Adam and about the crash, Sam and Lucifer, and finally Dean’s ribs and his “presumed idea of a double story.” Sam answered about the crash, how he wasn’t expecting it but reacted as best as he could.

“It’s not everyday you get a piece of tire thrown into your seat,” Sam joked. “It cost me Second, but both of us finished in the top for our team so that’s what I’m focusing on.” It was diplomatic, though Castiel wondered if Sam wanted to strangle Frank.

Dean definitely wanted to, by how he chose not to comment on the state of his health. Lucifer looked like it was all a joke to him, something that wasn’t lost on Dean. Sam looked indifferent.

“And what of the events of Australia, and the injuries that were sustained?” Frank persevered. If the man had anything it was persistence. “Have you been in contact with the person whose hand was in the infamous picture?”

Dean only glared at Frank until the senior reporter sat down, but not before his eyes shifted to catch Castiel’s own once more. Castiel gulped at the ferocity of the eyes trained on him, but Frank, thankfully, did not notice the exchange.

After the conference, Frank had Castiel carry what little equipment they had back to the hotels. He was exhausted, every step a challenge, like a mountain that kept getting built on. Castiel only wondered what the drivers felt if he felt like this. He didn’t even drive a car for crying out loud!

It was still raining by the time Castiel found his room again, his mind straying to the thought of whether or not his brain would let him sleep for once when he heard it: a ping coming from the pocket where his phone sat. It was a twelve-hour time difference between here and New York where Hannah was, and that was who usually texted him…

 

**D: Hey, Cas. Busy day**

 

Dean.

 

_C: Hello, Dean._

**D: What u up to?**

_C: Debating about how much sleep I’m going to get._

**D: Don’t tell me you got a girl there**

_C: It would be quite the opposite, actually, but in either case no. There is no one here but    myself and a rather stuffy pillow._

**D: Okay then**

**D: You wanna come over here?**

 

Castiel reread the words on his phone. Did Dean want him to walk to the other hotel to go to his room? After asking if he had anyone over?

_He’s a womanizer…_

 

_C: From my understanding, was the entire reason for us having each other’s numbers not so that we could avoid any more physical scenes?_

**D: Eh, most of the drivers leave right after the parties or are still there. We could just watch a movie or something**

_C: You have interesting definitions of how you want to go about not hurting our professional careers, Dean Winchester._

**D: It’s a short walk, you can handle it in 5 minutes**

_C: It’s raining, Dean._

**D: See you in 10 then :)**

 

Castiel didn’t know how Dean assumed that was a yes, but he did not dispute it. He had been wanting to talk to Dean, after all, with no cameras or media following them around. Even if this felt… intimate.

Despite that, it felt like he had to make sure no one overheard or followed him after Dean texted him the hotel name and number. The drivers register under different names for the very same reasons celebrities refuse to say where they will be staying. Castiel found himself in a lavish hotel just a few blocks from the circuit and about ten minutes from where the crew was stationed for the final night. He made sure to tell Frank that he was going to sleep in case Frank came looking for him.

One knock on the door later and Dean Winchester answered, race clothes replaced by a casual red flannel and jeans. It suited him in a way Castiel couldn’t understand.

“Heya, Cas.” Dean sported a grin and opened the door fully, inviting Castiel inside.

“Hello once again, Dean,” Castiel stepped inside and marveled at the executive-style suite. There was one large king bed towards the center of the room by the small kitchen area, a living room stocked with a television mounted on the wall and a tray of couches surrounding a modest coffee table. One large meeting room dining table currently occupied with Dean’s suitcase and clothes rested towards the back of the room next to the bed. He must have been packing just before Castiel arrived. A closed door stood just beyond the dining room table. “You have much larger rooms than the network gets for us,”

“Comes with the job, I guess,” Dean clapped Castiel on the back before stepping around and making his way towards the couch. “Sam’s room connects to this one, but he’s out like a light right now.”

“He won’t hear the movie?”

“Not with how he sleeps, especially after a race like we had. I’ll be surprised if the guy wakes up before we hit Sochi.”

Castiel nodded and moved to sit down next to Dean. The television blazed to life as Dean began surfing through the hotel movie network. Almost everything had both English and Chinese titles, making picking a movie somewhat easy even if neither man could understand what it was about.

“Got a preference?” Dean met Castiel’s eyes, but his tone reflected some sort of hesitance.

“Not particularly,” Castiel replied. The silence between conversations wasn’t awkward; it was oddly comfortable, as if they had been doing this for years.

The movie that Dean ultimately did decide on was some sort of weird Chinese drama that was on one of the TV stations. He just so happened to choose the very one that _didn’t_ have any sort of English aid component.

“I like this one,” Dean spoke after a moment of listening to the screen.

“You’ve seen it?”

“Nope, but it’s good for conversations,” Dean laughed.

“How so?” Castiel back fought a smile.

“Because we can make up whatever it is that they’re saying. Have you never done this?” Dean looked at him like had grown a third eye.

“I cannot say I have. Is that common?” Castiel tilted his head.

Dean scoffed, his head shaking at his own thoughts. “I’d say it’s common. Well then, watch and learn.” Dean proceeded to turn toward the screen where a woman and a man seemed to be arguing about something in extreme distress around a dinner table.

“The woman is pissed the man didn’t buy her the top of the line chicken that she asked for when he made the meal, and the man is now proceeding to stab at the chicken like it wronged him somehow.” Dean spent a solid ten minutes making up dialogue on the spot about the two characters onscreen before a third came in that looked to be the man and woman’s child. “And now the child thinks this is all one big game and is getting in on the whole thing too.” Every character had a voice that Dean mimicked almost naturally, the woman having a higher pitch and the man a  register lower than Dean’s own voice. It was enough to make Castiel laugh to the point where he was fighting back tears of his own. He even joined in from time to time.

“You do this often, I take it.”

“Sam and I would make these things up a lot when we were growing up, yeah,” For the first time all night, Dean hesitantly looked away from Castiel as he spoke. “We’d come up with the most ridiculous stories and just see where it took us.” He looked somber, as if the mere information recalled a bad memory. It was that moment that only served as a reminder to Castiel that Dean was an enigma, one he still had yet to understand.

“How is Sam? And the car?” Castiel asked instead, an attempt to jolt Dean out of whatever thought had placed him in such a dejected mood.

It seemed to work, though somber Dean turned into annoyed Dean. “He’s fine, just beating himself up about not getting second. Car’s fine, better than Charlie’s at least.” His face contorted into one of shock. “And to think I thought you’d be concerned about how I was doing first, Doctor Novak?”

Castiel laughed, playing along, “Well I see you are clearly fine and your chest doesn’t seem to hurt as bad as it did, patient Winchester.”

“Well yeah but what if I’m just good at masking it?” The other man wiggled his eyebrows, daring Castiel to continue. The conversation flowed easily and comfortably; it shouldn’t feel that way but it did.

“Then would you like me to test that theory?” Without waiting for Dean to prepare, Castiel poked Dean’s ribs not too harshly, but with enough pressure to know that Dean _definitely_ felt it. It was enough to cause Dean to fall back flush on the couch, his legs all but resting on Castiel’s lap in recoil, face slightly pained as he grunted.

Instantly, Castiel regretted playing too harshly. “I’m sor—”

Dean popped back up almost instantly, nearly causing Castiel to lose his balance on the couch. “I’m fine, I’m fine. See? It’s more of just a small ache than it is pain now.”

Castiel poked Dean again. “You got me.”

“Ah so you were concerned about me! You can say it, I don’t bite,” Dean had a shit-eating grin on his face. The entire room felt light.

“Yes, Dean, of course I was,” Castiel relented. “And you were driving in the rain, today. You could’ve gotten even more hurt or worse. I was…worried.” He felt the blush creep up on him, but he wasn’t sure why. Dean was just a friend, if that at all. They were only getting to know each other, and Castiel still barely knew anything about him.

And Dean was into women.

Regardless, he could have sworn he saw Dean’s ears turn a slightly darker shade of red at the same time, but Dean just nodded and stayed quiet, an open invitation for Castiel to ask anything.

He didn’t know where to start, but for reasons unknown his mind drove him to ask about something else. “What about Adam? What happened with him after Bahrain?”

Dean’s face hardened then, his jaw clenched. “Adam’s gonna be running Metatron’s car for Sochi.”

Oh.

That was news.

"Can he do that? Adam’s not Metatron or Mercedes’s reserve driver. Can drivers just jump teams like that?”

“He told Sammy and me after the race.” Dean’s eyes were elsewhere again, his mind reeling. It dawned on Castiel what learning this kind of information must now mean. Almost at the same time, Dean’s face showed the very same look of concern that mirrored Castiel’s own: this was information the public didn’t have yet, and it would rock the industry because of how much of a scandal it would cause, especially if leaked before Sochi in a couple of weeks.

And here Dean was telling Castiel like they were old friends and Castiel was not in fact a reporter for the network that kept saying Dean had a secret to hide, that very secret being Castiel himself.

"For the record,” Dean started, driving Castiel out of his thoughts. He stared down into his hands, having gotten up to sit cross-legged beside Castiel on the couch. “I’m...concerned for you, too. Not about doing anything like a reckless idiot like me, but it’s just this must be hard to deal with, knowing what you know and not staying anything when it’s your job to tell the facts. Australia couldn’t have been easy, and Frank’s stunts aren’t helping.” He sighed, anger returning to his face at the mention of Frank. Castiel’s “mystery hand” was still very much a hot topic amongst the hardcore fans and media, undoubtedly driven by Frank’s never ending mission to uncover that identity.

“It was one picture that I was barely even partially in, please do not let it trouble you,” Castiel moved to sit closer to Dean’s frame in a sign of open trust. “And I know how to keep secrets, Dean. Leaking of classified material is a concern, but if you trust me enough to do that with more information than what I am already involved in, then trust that I would never dream of repeating it if it were to hurt you. Concern and trust fall in the same line for me.”

Dean paused, the tension that had come with the realization evaporating as he considered Castiel’s words. He did not look Castiel in the eye, his gaze resting on the television. “Know any Chinese proverbs, Cas?” he spoke after a beat.

It was a segue, another string of communication. Dean did not wish to talk any more on the other matter, a trait Castiel was quickly realizing was just a classic Dean Winchester move. He let it slide, attention turning to pondering the question instead. He followed Dean’s gaze back to the forgotten television in the interim.

It seemed the man and woman on screen weren’t fighting anymore, rather they were now locked in a passionate kiss, though their words were still anger filled whenever they broke apart only to silence each other in a kiss again.

"Be not afraid of growing slowly; be afraid only of standing still.”

Dean digested the words. “Deep,” he replied, his voice suddenly quiet.

“Yes...proverbs are usually deep,” Castiel added. The program ended a few minutes after. The room was suddenly filled with silence and something else, an energy Castiel couldn’t pinpoint. For the first time the entire night (at which a quick glance at his phone revealed to be close to 4 AM) Castiel felt like he was on the verge of a cliff, and as his eyes drifted back to a now similarly transfixed Dean he felt like there was something he was missing, something that was growing but scared to keep doing so.

Dean only stared back at him, his eyes the only indication that he was physically present in the moment despite his mind likely dwelling on something. Castiel would know. He has seen the same look in the mirror.

“I-I should be on my way. Frank has a few events he wishes for me to attend before the Russian race.” Castiel broke the silence and the eye contact, his cheeks slightly hot from the scrutiny Dean’s eyes had given him. He should not be feeling this way.

"R-right, yeah. You’ve got early stuff. Us too. More testing before we hit back,” Dean blinked his eyes a few times to knock himself out of his reverie, getting up to open the door of the room for the reporter to leave. “I’d ask you to spend the night, but that’d be…”

“Was that a flirtation?” Castiel narrowed his eyes. _Dean wouldn’t, would he?_

“Heh…? No, just me being me, I guess. Thanks for coming, though. It was… nice seeing you.”

_Yes, he wouldn’t._

“Likewise, Dean,” Castiel offered one last smile before they bid each other goodnight and good morning. As he walked back to his hotel room in the dark mixing with the first traces of the morning light, he didn’t know what to feel or what to do.

There were butterflies in his stomach, though the reason as to why he wasn’t sure. He still knew very little about Dean, and yet he wanted to go back and ask, to get to know him more.  The butterflies were getting worse, but not before he felt a chill run down his spine, effectively stopping the feeling. Castiel looked around, fear coming to him, but there was no one around, paparazzi or otherwise. He chose not to dwell on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> Perception and Reality are Two Different Things – Tom Cruise 
> 
> Red is such an interesting color to correlate with emotion, because it’s on both ends of the spectrum. On one end you have happiness, falling in love, infatuation with someone, passion, all that. On the other end, you’ve got fear and danger. – Taylor Swift
> 
> Fun Facts: 
> 
> China's paddock seriously is a maze. It's absurd XD


	4. Russia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Sam W. (58 points)  
> Charlie B (43 points)  
> Lucifer M. (43 points)  
> Michael S. (35 points)  
> Kevin T. (30 points)  
> Dean W. (25 points)  
> Crowley M. (22 points)  
> Gadreel P. (16 points)  
> Balthazar R. (14 points)  
> Ash H. (8 points)

They continued texting all the while between the two races, Dean opening up a little more while Castiel found himself looking forward to their late-night conversations. They would talk about anything, but more often than not the conversations would turn to life outside of the sport and their careers. With every passing phone call and message, Castiel found himself questioning why he felt excited or anxious whenever Dean called or said he was out testing the car. Even Frank had noticed in the interim between the races, Castiel more glued to his phone than he should be. On more than one occasion Frank had asked why Castiel was grinning at his screen.

“There’s an interesting video about the current bee population,” Castiel lied. It had actually been a picture Dean had sent of one very knocked out Sam, a spoon in his mouth.

“Bull,” Frank responded, turning Castiel’s veins to ice. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, but you must have someone special back home.”

"W-what?” Castiel stammered.

“People don’t get that look every day after just watching some video on the net, Novak,” Frank turned away, letting the matter drop. But to Castiel it felt like it had been an answer to the question he had subconsciously been asking himself since he first met Dean on the plane a few months ago.

 _No, it’s insane. Dean is very much a ladies’ man,_ he found his brain countering. _This is just a crush, if that._  For as much as he could help it, though, Castiel knew he could not deny the fact that somewhere between their middle of the night walks and confusing pop culture references he had entertained the idea if only for a few seconds.

Another message had chimed in then, this time another picture from Dean fully decked out in his driver’s suit.

 

**D – All set here in Sochi. See you soon ;)**

Dean looked nice. In more ways than one.

Castiel fought back a jump in his heart. _Dammit._

 

~

 

No one knew about Adam testing the car for this race until the practice sessions rolled around in beautiful Sochi, Russia. Castiel was organizing all of his gear when he heard Frank curse. He looked up in time to see Adam sporting a silver suit, the normal trademark red of the Ferrari team now nonexistent. The news broke after Adam made his way to the Mercedes paddock to talk to the team principle, one rather amused Crowley sitting in his car watching the entire ordeal go down as reporters crowded around asking the obvious questions, Frank among them. Castiel chose to sit on the sidelines so as to not somehow incriminate himself, his headphones on to knock out as much noise from the cars that were still in practice as possible. He had read the preliminary report in the morning, but he knew no one had believed it, not entirely. Drivers don’t just switch out of the blue.

The official story became that Mercedes as a team offered Adam (and Ferrari) money to simply test Metatron’s car out in the hopes that he would return soon, and if the test went well then Adam would race in Metatron’s place for a race to try and win more points for the team. The entire deal had happened behind closed doors between Mercedes and Ferrari, but whenever Castiel looked over to the Ferrari garage all he could see were people in shock at the entire situation. Sam and Dean had their helmets on and were out practicing, but Castiel knew they wanted no questions posed their way regarding this entire scandal.

Because really, that was what it was, in this world: a scandal. These teams were founded on loyalty and pride, but it seemed  both could be bought.

Frank came back to where Castiel had been sitting. “We should’ve broken the story first and instead we thought it wasn’t true.”

“This really does not happen that often, does it?” Castiel asked in an attempt to say anything.

“It’s rarely happened, and even then not like this. There’s something going on…” Frank was in one of his moods, one Castiel had come to recognize as the go-do-some-work-somewhere-else-I’m-busy mood. He elected to simply leave Frank to his own devices.

Since the weekend was still in practice sessions and Adam’s surprise twist would be the only story that he knew would be covered, Castiel chose to merely watch and wait unless he was needed. Both Mercedes and Ferrari stated that they would not be discussing this issue until a later date once the news broke officially, therefore the race slowly returned to the spotlight as the weekend wore on.

Despite his wish to sit and watch, Castiel only began to wonder what must be going on in Sam and Dean’s minds. They had known for a while, but with all that’s happened, did it affect them mentally? Would they crash because they were not fully focused? Would they be okay?

He chastised himself. _Have a little faith in their ability to do their jobs, Castiel._ That only served to alleviate his thoughts momentarily, his brain instead turning to another matter.

The next day was Qualifying, and with it came Castiel’s first driver spotlight interview with Lucifer. The journalist shifted as he watched the practice session; what would he ask? What would Lucifer say? He did not seem to be the one that most fans liked despite his reining championship title, but he was respected as a driver despite the rumors regarding what had happened in China and his actions in the race. Castiel didn’t have much time to dwell on that, however, once he heard Gabriel yanking at straws and asking for more input on the practice session. He had to do his job and think of this in the night.

 

~

 

When night eventually did come, it came with another one of Dean and their now frequent conversations.

“I hate it,” Dean had been saying. He had been the one to call Castiel after more interviews and news broke regarding Adam’s change and how the media thought Sam and Dean were taking it as teammates. “It’s utter bullshit.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel comforted. He told himself he was not going to ask regarding Adam, but it looked like Dean needed the outlet to vent. “I did not think that was the true story either.”

“Of course it’s fucking not!” Dean shot back. Castiel knew Dean wasn’t mad at him per say, but it still hurt him to think Dean had been affected this way, the realization as to why that was now entirely clear to him. “Adam went to them offering a deal behind everyone’s backs and Mercedes bought it because they were down a man. He just wanted to get out on the track and hates that I’m still in my seat after the accident.”

“You’re feeling better about that, yes?” Castiel tried to take his mind off everything. He heard Dean sigh.

“Yeah, I’m officially clear if that’s what you’re asking. You can ask me that next time to let people know, too.”

Castiel hesitated. There it was again, the reminder that they should not even be talking like this in the first place. Secrets like this, albeit little ones, could spell disaster if it came out that Castiel and Dean hung out.

“I’ll make a note of it,” he responded instead, the dark cloud of riddles still hanging briefly. “How is Sam?”

“He’s uh, he’s okay I think. We got here a few days early along with some of the other drivers so it’s been kind of a different feeling. He came back late one day, though, and he wasn’t exactly happy.” Dean sounded as if this was not the end of the conversation, but he didn’t elaborate.

“Hopefully everything sorts itself out for tomorrow. Which reminds me, you need your rest, Dean.”

“Yeah okay, Mom.” Though Castiel couldn’t see him, he knew Dean was rolling his eyes. “Just gimme 5 more minutes and then I’ll tuck myself in.”

“You are insatiable, Dean Winchester,” Castiel scoffed, his face suppressing a smile he knew Dean could not see.

“Yeah, well, you’re easy to talk to, Castiel Novak.” Dean retorted. “So forgive me if I don’t wanna hang up yet.” He paused. “Son of a bitch, we’re those people.”

“What people?” Castiel turned his head as he looked at the black television screen in his hotel room.

“The, ‘You hang up first,’ ‘No you hang up first,’ people, Cas.” Dean laughed, his voice half choked.

“That cannot be. We’re not together, Dean,” Castiel felt his heart beat hard at the thought, the words out before common sense could intervene. It was impossible, but for a few seconds he let himself enjoy toying with the idea.

“…Friends can do it, too, you know,” Dean spoke nonchalantly, as if this wasn’t a monumental conversation. Well, it probably wasn’t to Dean, not like it was for Castiel. He sighed. At least he knew Dean considered him a friend.

“Well regardless, you really should get some rest, Dean. I couldn’t live with myself if you drove drowsy and not fully alert tomorrow.” It was true.

“So nice of you to care, Cas,” Dean’s voice came soft through the line, meaning every word he spoke. “‘Night.”

“Goodnight, Dean.” The line clicked dead, but Castiel was more awake than ever.

 

~

 

It was the morning of Qualifying and the news was still very much circulating regarding Adam’s deal with Mercedes, or rather, the story Mercedes had said and Ferrari refused to dispute. To do so would make Ferrari look bad, after all. Castiel could see why they were choosing not to comment at all regarding the issue, but Adam had constantly been hounded by reporters, his smile wide, no less, showing that he loved the attention. With every passing interview, Castiel found that Adam was nothing more than a person that simply wanted the limelight and did not care what had to be done to get to it. It was sickening. He must think he had everything.

“Lucifer is in the Red Bull camp. Go over and meet up with the crew,” Frank ordered Castiel, hands busy with three different laptops as they sat in the media room the network had. Because of recent news, every reporter Castiel had seen had been working overtime, everyone except him that is, and Frank had picked up on it. “Instead of doing your job yesterday and trying to get a quote from the Winchesters or the team, you watched the most passive part of this entire sport. I expect a good interview from Morningstar, and make it something we can use this time,” he side-eyed his intern before giving him the equipment he would need. Castiel chose to take the reprimand, his mind going back to some of the last interviews he did in China.

He made his way across the paddock to where the interview tents were, massive lines staked out in front of very empty Ferrari and Mercedes booths. All the drivers were gearing up for qualifying, Gabriel already yammering away in the commentator’s booth in a pre-show warmup that Castiel could hear over the communications system. The Red Bull booth had moderate press, but because the network was doing a spotlight interview the doors to the booth were sealed. Castiel found his camera crew inside, all waiting for him and the driver was due at any moment. Normally, a driver might walk around with the interviewer and see the sights of wherever it was that they had a race that particular weekend, but Lucifer had explicitly stated they remain in the room. Castiel tried not to take offense to it. The less he was seen with Lucifer, the better.

He sat down, notebook and questions in hand while he waited. The interview itself would air tomorrow during the race to coincide with the close of the weekend, but regardless, that meant he had to get something out of Lucifer that they could use. He wasn’t sure if he liked that line of thinking. Lucifer was too much of a wild card.

Speaking of the devil, the man in question came out not a moment later from another door in the room opposite where Castiel had come in. He was fully decked out in his colors, the red and blue of the energy drink blending in with the rest of the team’s themed room. “We ready?” he spoke gruffly, as if this was the last thing that should have his attention. He scanned the room, eyes trained and expression schooled.

“Yes, please sit down, Lucifer—”

“Luke. Please. My name is quite the handful,” as if by a switch, Lucifer smiled coyly at Castiel before he sat down directly across from where the cameras were. “Heard a lot about you,” he gave a knowing look. Castiel decided then and there that his name fit him perfectly.

“You have?” Castiel wondered. He had briefly interviewed Lucifer before, but not to the extent like he had some of the other drivers. Lucifer Morningstar was a driver of the “Big Three,” and though Castiel had talked with the others, Red Bull seemed to avert all chances at speaking with him. He still had yet to fully speak with Michael, the team’s other driver.

“People talk, or people gossip,” Lucifer gave him a look that Castiel couldn’t describe any other way but double-edged. He seemed to be playing up his actions, one eye on Castiel and the other on the camera.

Castiel’s mind instantly jumped to Dean at the gossip remark against his will. _He couldn’t know, could he?_

He steeled himself and began asking his questions. “Well, if you are ready. We can begin.”

The interview was meant to be a sort of “getting to know the driver” and his or her opinions with regard to how the standings and the currently race looks like it will be. Castiel asked about why he chose his driver number, how he got his name, and his thoughts moving into the race. With every question, however, Lucifer’s demeanor and his tone of choice acted as if they were black and white, a smile never leaving his face for the camera.

“Oh, it’s 66 of course, but that is obvious, Cassie.”

“I’d like to think my name was given to me, not because of its meaning, but rather because of its story, quite like yours, no? We’re almost _family_.”

“Ah, yes, this race? Well, it’ll surely be quite the little battle between our fellow friends out there, wouldn’t you say?”

Every answer was shot back at Castiel, goading him on to see what he would respond with. Castiel felt like a caged animal. He recognized the signs that Lucifer knew _something_ ; the other man was simply waiting for Castiel to acknowledge it.

“I could see why you would think that,” Castiel countered. He had learned a thing or two from Frank in way of conspiracies and how to handle them, after all. “You alluded to it, but what sort of battle are you referring to? How do you see it going into the race?”

He thought he had gotten the upper hand, but instead of any sort of reserved spite, Lucifer scoffed instead. “Oh, the Adam battle, of course. Like _you_ don’t know why he switched,” he met Castiel’s eyes head on, the accusation implied.

“I do not know what you mean,” Castiel countered, but even he could hear the tremor in his voice.

Lucifer raised his hand in the air, every motion practiced like he was the victim in his own story. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s not my business what others do in their personal lives, but the Ferrari team sure has quite the little secret brewing, wouldn’t you say? It’d be a shame if there was anything else that _leaked_ out from them now.”

Castiel swallowed, anger warring inside him now. _How dare he insinuate something?_ The fact of the matter remained, however. Lucifer could know a number of things, possibly about his ties with Sam and Dean, and that wasn’t a comforting thought. “Well, as much as that train of thought would be interesting to the media, I’m afraid we are out of time.”

“Quite; I have a race to win,” Lucifer smirked as he let Castiel finish the final remarks for segment purposes. “Fun chattin’ with you, intern.” He was up and out before Castiel could finish glaring at the man, confusion and uncertainty toiling with him.

“Guess you’re on a first name basis with Mr. Morningstar, huh?” his camera operator briefly smiled at Castiel as he tidied up the equipment and checked in with his crew. “Must be exciting, getting to interview these people and having them talk to you like equals.”

“I’m not so sure about that…”Castiel trailed off.

 _"_ I mean, you got Morningstar and both the Winchesters, but that must just be perks of being the face,” Kelvin added from behind the other cameraman. He seemed to joke, but Castiel could not read him. He only politely smiled instead and excused himself from the tent, citing that he had to get into position for Qualifying to start.

The sessions came quickly, all the drivers in their cars and not many people to interview outside of the crew and pit lane members of each team. Castiel found himself waving once more to Ellen and Jo, but it was the action on the track that spoke today.

Sochi’s circuit was built around Olympic Park, so to overtake or get past any competitors while racing would be a feat in and of itself at normal driving speeds, let alone racing speeds. How the cars qualified against one another would play a significant role to how the race would both start and end, but ultimately this race was all about strategy. Castiel had seen how fast cars could go from leading the race to falling into the middle pack just by how well or horrible a pit stop became. The turns were quick and dirty, but only for the most experienced drivers.

The first Qualifying session would knock out the ten slowest cars and place them in their positions for the race. More often than not it was the same set of cars from the smaller teams, the “Big Three,” almost always advancing their way into the second and third sessions. This was no difference in Sochi; Sam, Dean, Lucifer, Crowley, Michael, and even Adam all making it into the last session, Q3. They had just ten minutes to outrun each other in times, but the action never truly started to gear up until the last five minutes of that session.

Castiel watched from the media center, Gabriel’s face on the TV being just above him as the trickiest commentator out there constantly played with the edge of professionalism in his words.

“We’ve got both Ferrari out on the track right now, but we’ll see how the two daring brothers do against their former reserve driver, also out right now,” Gabriel had said, professionally.

“You know, viewers, sometimes I think these guys are all related somehow, actually. Maybe Adam’s just annoyed he’s the littlest brother and doesn’t get to play with his big brother’s faster toys,” the trickster part of the commentary. Castiel wondered how Gabriel hadn’t received some sort of reprimand yet, or maybe he had. It wasn’t like he himself knew how deep the connections went around here. Maybe Gabriel was just like that.

Sam and Dean alike were pulling respectively quick times, each easily hitting a little over a minute and a half that was setting the pace for the weekend. The minutes were counting down quickly, however, and with it meant more traffic on the field, making it harder to get a clean lap in without meeting some sort of resistance from other cars that took time to be passed. Castiel found himself staring, his eyes blinking every time a car zoomed near the start/finish straight where he was near. One blink, the car was there; the next, gone already a mile and a half down the road. They were silver bullets in this world, or red bullets, in Ferrari’s case.

"Looks like Adam isn’t able to play with the big dogs for now. He’s checking himself in for the night with one minute left to play on the clock and he stands to be out of the top five for Qualifying. As those in the front, Sam Winchester has also retreated while both Charlie Bradbury and Crowley see if they can squeeze one last lap before time’s up. And speaking of time almost being up, I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s race here in beautiful Russia. It’ll sure be one for the books if this is anything to go by,” Gabriel rambled on.

Castiel watched with baited breath as the clock reached zero. Anyone on a flying lap, a lap that had been started while the clock had still been going, would be able to finish and have it count towards their Qualifying time. Dean, Charlie, Crowley, and Lucifer were all still out fighting for the top spot to try and beat Sam, currently in first.

Lucifer came down to finish his lap first, the cold look of his car competing with the ground below as if it would just open him up and swallow him whole with how close to the ground these cars already were. He managed to get just below Sam’s time for second place, the best he could do if the others could best the time. Castiel had no doubt in his mind that even Crowley would be able to best the time.

Charlie came in next, beating both Sam and Lucifer’s time at just over a minute and 36 seconds. It was her personal best. Crowley managed to sneak right in between Charlie and Sam to claim second for now, Lucifer now effectively fourth and out of the front row to start. All that was left was Dean.

He was blowing past Sam’s numbers during each sector, shaving off a millisecond here and a hundredth there. Again, Castiel had no doubt he would beat Lucifer’s time, the thought alone bringing a cautious smile to his face. Lucifer had been such a weird case for him, but he wasn’t sure why it bothered him as much as it did that Lucifer suspected something. Suspecting and knowing are two very different ranges of understanding.

Dean had neared the last sector of the race and barreled down the start/finish straight, crowds all around screaming and hollering in every language, the sea of red standing out more than the others. Castiel found himself to be holding his breath until they called Dean’s time.

"And with that folks, we’ve just seen a new personal best and track best for Dean Winchester at one-thirty-four and one thousandths!” Gabriel’s voice boomed, his cheers joined by the fans. Gabriel could root for whoever he wanted openly because he was meant to be a hype man, or at least that is what Castiel assumed. He and Gabriel hadn’t exactly talked more than that one time in China or when on the air, their jobs working alongside each other but not any more than that.

Regardless, Dean had a time of 1:34.001, putting him in prime position for a good race tomorrow, one Castiel knew he needed to win or at least finish in after the last few that he had had. The day ended with final remarks from the top three drivers at the debriefing press conference, but Castiel could see that there seemed to be some sort of tension on Dean’s shoulders. Having out-qualified Sam had placed the junior Winchester in fourth place and out of the top three, but this was Qualifying, not the race. Though they sometimes predict just who wins, that does not mean something could change the day of the race. Castiel sat in the back while Frank asked questions about tires, the weather, and about Russia in general, but he found that nearly throughout the entire press conference Dean had his eyes trained on Castiel. This time, Castiel stared right back, his own trying to convey a private conversation.

 _Are you okay? Is Sam okay? Did something happen?_ His eyes probed into the Ferrari driver to try to get some sort of answer, but Dean did not provide any. Or at least, not before Dean gave a small shrug and shook his head, imperceptible to all that were not actively looking for it.

 _It’s fine. Nothing you can do,_ was what Castiel understood. The conference ended not too long after, the drivers leaving to their rooms or wherever it was that they went to the night before a race. For his part, Castiel went to debrief with his team before he found himself in his own hotel room, his eyes on his phone as he debated what to ask.

It was not like it was any of his business to know if there really was something going on, and it was very possible Dean’s behavior was just stress from the race or from being in the spotlight every hour of every day. Castiel was about to turn his phone off and attempt to toss and turn to get some rest before it pinged.

 

**D: You ever see Sochi at night? Or at least the place around the circuit?**

_C: You seem to be under the impression that I have travelled far more than I actually have._

**D: Fair enough.**

**D: So you want to or not?**

_C: I cannot sleep anyway, but only for an hour. You need to sleep._

_C: Is everything okay?_

**D: What do you mean? Everything’s fine**

**D: See you in a bit**

 

Castiel stared at his phone, his thoughts categorizing themselves. Maybe he was just hallucinating after all.

 

~

 

The Sochi Olympic Park hosted the 2014 Olympic games what felt like decades ago now, but now that the main event had come and gone, the place was still fully functional and running by partaking in different events throughout the year, one of which being the Russian Grand Prix. If Castiel thought the place was a city in the daylight, he wasn’t prepared to see it at night.

Stadiums dotted the skyline as he walked to where Dean sat overlooking one of the squares, the lights in the stores all turned off but the lights that marked the streets still bright and illuminating every shadow. It felt safe, peaceful. No one was around but them, either, everyone affiliated with F1 most likely preparing for tomorrow by sleeping tonight.

“Hey, you,” Dean called from where he was, his usual incognito gear framing his form. For Castiel’s part he just elected to wear his tan trench coat that he used in New York. “You and that coat seem attached at the hip,” Dean remarked as he clapped Castiel on the back.

“It was a hand-me-down that I adopted, and for the record I can take this off whenever I want,” Castiel deadpanned, his eyes betraying any bite the words might have had.

Dean barked out a laugh. “Walk and talk, then.” He motioned for Castiel to follow him until they fell in step with each other, shoulders occasionally brushing as they passed streets and stadiums that were closed for race officials or other race matters. They avoided many areas with a lot of cameras, but there were a few places here or there that Dean was able to show him part of the track itself, barricades opening up to give access for them to walk across.

“This turn is a bitch,” he pointed to one of the curves in the track. “My first year I ran through it and into the chicane more than once. My team wanted to kill me over my tires.”

“I can imagine,” Castiel chuckled, his hands in his pockets while he let Dean continue to explain. “You must have been quite the rookie.”

Dean scoffed. “I’m told I’m the man of the hour in any weather. It’s probably why Ferrari picked me up as fast as they did. Right outta the gate I was in one of the smaller teams and then next thing you know the big guys are calling. They got Sam the next year after they saw him race, too.” Dean smiled, obviously remembering some memories of the past. “Oh, and this turn to get into the pits is hell, too. One time my team told me to box right when I was passing it. Nearly trampled Alfie when I was taking the turn, too,” he pointed towards where the track and the pit lane met.

“Box? What does a box have to do with pit lane?”

“It’s just another way of telling us to go to pits. Saves breath when you’re out here with a loud ass engine on your back and you’re trying to listen to a radio.” Dean looked younger while he was explaining basic small lingo about the sport.

"You like teaching,” Castiel commented.

“Eh, I like helping. I guess the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

They walked in silence for a few more minutes, Castiel marveling at the statues and fountains that they found themselves crossing through. Dean looked like he had something on his mind, too, which drudged up old thoughts.

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong? You’re uncharacteristically quiet.” He nudged Dean’s shoulder with his own to grab the other man’s attention. He also noted just how a small touch refused to leave him, his skin tingling.  

Dean turned, his eyes pensive. He seemed to make up his mind before he answered. “Teams and drivers are always a little stir crazy before the big race. It’s the time where our nerves are the most stressed, or at least in my experience.”

“Is that why you wanted to walk?” Castiel almost wanted to add _with me,_ but his brain refused.

“A little, yeah,” Dean paused, “but I wanted to talk to you, too, so, guess the two kinda worked together.” Castiel swore Dean must have read his mind. He felt red begin to grow around his ears.

“Why did you want to talk to me?”

“I-I dunno, to talk, man. Do I need a reason?” Dean refused to look him in the eye, instead opting to turn the corner back in the direction of the hotel the majority of the drivers and network crew were staying at.

“I… suppose not.”

“Well, then good. Yeah,” Dean trailed off as they continued walking, the silence falling between them not completely uncomfortable, but rather charged with something Castiel couldn’t quite place.

“You wanna see something?” Dean spoke after a few minutes of silence.

“Okay.”

 The other man scoffed, his nose making most of the noise. “Follow me and make sure we’re not being followed.”

“...Okay.”

They walked past an opening in the track that lead them near the pit lane, all of the garage doors that normally were open closed for the night. An empty pit lane surrounded them, though Castiel swore he could hear the echo of the cars’ rumble as if it were race day.

“Are we allowed to be here at this hour?”

“Probably not,” Dean answered. “But since when has that stopped me?”

They made their way to the garage designated to Ferrari for the weekend, Sam and Dean’s name and numbers embolden on banners just in front of two metal garage doors.

Dean dug a key out of his pocket. “You haven’t sat in a car, have you?”

“What?” Castiel exclaimed. “Dean, we cannot do this right now, what if we get caught.”

“Then we lose,” Dean answered simply. “But losing ain’t really my style, Novak.” He inserted the key into the door, taking care to unlock any silent alarms before they went off. The door opened to darkness, not a single light on, though that did not mean there was not noise.

The introduction of light through the open door gave a glow to the car that sat in slumber inside, the normally bright red now more of a blood color as the sounds of Russia echoed around it.

“Meet my Italian ride.”

“Dean, no. I can’t-we can’t.”

“It’s okay, Cas.” Without thinking, Dean moved to pull an arm over Castiel’s shoulder and guide him inside. “If you don’t want to get in the car, then you don’t have to, but it’ll kill me if you don’t.”

Once they were fully inside, Castiel could see Sam’s car sitting not too far from Dean’s both behemoths only separated by a tool station laden with computer monitors. “What if there’s an alarm?” He found himself asking.

“Alarms are gone.”

“What if we get caught.”

“We’re not gonna get caught.”

“What if I get stuck?”

“I’ll pull you out.”

“What if we break the car?”

 “Cas, for God's sake relax will you?”

Castiel gulped, eyes wide and in shock. This could all spell disaster for them in an instant. He thought he heard tools move in the background, but Dean paid no attention to anything outside of what was in front of him. Dean guided Castiel to where the cockpit rested in the center of the racecar. “So the trick is to get your legs in right first, then you drop the rest of your body in. Now, it’s gonna feel a little weird ‘cause the car’s matched to my body, so some things might had some more wiggle room than others.”

"What places? The legs?”

“Sure, Cas. The legs.” Dean offered his hand. “Coat off. I promise I won’t burn it.”

Castiel only looked at the hand, his mind working overtime. “Why do you want me in the car, Dean? Why now?”

“... Because I thought you should at least know what it feels like. For your job.”

Castiel only listened to the silence between them in that moment. He needed to just listen.

He could hear how his trench coat rolled off of him, its bulk delicately finding a home in Dean’s arm.

“Good, now here,” Dean offered his hand again. “Put your foot here and then basically stand in it for a second.” He guided the other man slowly, a hand around an arm, around a waist, or near the legs at almost every step of the way. “Now crouch down and extend your feet ‘till you feel the pedals. Just don’t push ‘em. They’re hyper sensitive. Good, just like that.”

Castiel felt like he was sideways, his feet cocooned into the near nose of the car as his body adjusted to the tight fit around him. He realized the areas that were roomier than others, his feet having slightly more space to move forward and backward, but now he understood why drivers had to take their steering wheels out before they got out of cars.

“Exactly, ‘cause we can’t fit in otherwise,” Dean laughed when Castiel posed the thought. “How’s it feel.”

 “It… it feels tight.”

 “Yep, it’ll do that, but what else?” His green eyes only continued to pop when surrounded by so much dim red, enough that they looked hazel.

Castiel paused for a moment, considering the sensations around him. “It feels safe, like a baby in a womb.” He moved his hands in front of him to where the nonexistent steering wheel would be. “Like you are in control of your own destiny.”

“Every movement you make is your own choice. Every bank, steer, brake, and turn,” Dean added, his voice trailing as he studied Castiel’s hands. “And on top of it you have to know which buttons to press and which pedals to push.”

“Or the whole machine dies,” Castiel finished.  
They sat that way for a few minutes, both men staring at Castiel’s hands and the world around them. Even in a closed garage with little to no noise around them, it felt like all the noise in the world, like speed and sound married into one massive universe. In this little world, you were the commander of your own fate, the captain of your soul.

“This is why you drive,” Castiel whispered.

“This is part of why I drive.”

Castiel’s concentration broke at that, not at the words, but at how _broken_ they suddenly felt. It did more than break the illusion he found himself in. When he turned gaze away from his hands he found Dean’s body sitting just near the car, his head resting on his hand just next to Castiel’s face. His eyes, however, told the rest of the story.

“Dean… is everything okay?”

Dean scrunched his nose, his entire face turning away at the sight that Castiel was not looking at him. “It’s fine, Cas. It’s- it’s fine.” He shook his head quickly and regained his composure. “Sorry, pal, but we gotta get you outta there before you stink up my cockpit,” he deflected, a hand extending out to hoist Castiel out of the car. “Same way you went in is same way you go out, just in reverse.”

Castiel stared at Dean’s hand briefly, searching for any sign of shaking or break in the wall Dean had suddenly built up. The wall may be there, but he could see the smallest of cracks still open.

"Cas, I’m fine, really. Just take the damn hand so we can catch some sleep.”

Castiel blinked. Dean was not going to talk about it.

They left in silence, though despite Castiel reading Dean’s uneasiness it was not an awkward silence. They were nearing areas where people were walking around, which meant that they would have to separate quickly or else be at risk of being seen.

“We should probably not walk into the hotel together, Dean. Or at least, not at the same time.”

“Y-yeah, good thinking,” Dean stopped walking. “You first,” he motioned in front of him. “I’ll hold my own for a little while.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please, Cas. I can handle myself,” Dean smirked, his usual demeanor replacing the nervousness he sported only moments before almost like a whip. “Now, ladies first.”

Castiel scoffed and shook his head. “I do not know how your brother puts up with you.” He stared back.

“Yeah well, he doesn’t either,” Dean winked, bidding Castiel a final goodnight.

“Good luck tomorrow,” Castiel called over his shoulder.

“You’re the most biased reporter out there,” Dean laughed back.

 

~

 

Sochi was nothing if not beautiful in the mornings. Castiel briefly wondered why people did not just stay here year-round, but then again some did, the President included at times. His mind trailed back to Dean and their walk last night. It had felt so normal, so routine, like they had done it a thousand times over and yet there was still something missing, something left unsaid. Castiel could not figure out what it was, but it made his heartbeat quicken, a feat practically unheard of for him.

He attempted to shake it off as he prepared for the day. Hopefully Frank would not have him running around as often as he had in other races and he could simply watch, but the back of his mind quickly reminded him that he was Frank’s legs in case something major were to happen. Free time for Castiel was practically nonexistent when the race was going on. Even when he actually was sitting down he had to be paying attention. Already he had seen the consequences.

Castiel found himself at the circuit in record time, his credentials in hand and as prepared as he ever would be for his fourth race out of twenty. There was still so much left to cover.

He walked towards the back part of the paddock when his eyes locked with Lucifer’s cold ones. Castiel would never really get into the habit of calling him Luke; it simply didn’t suit him.

The driver had been walking in Castiel’s direction, though the minute Castiel caught sight of him Lucifer diverted his attention to something just behind Castiel, a smirk on his face. It was unsettling, though Castiel had decided that everything about Lucifer was unsettling. He was just about to pass the driver before Lucifer made it a point to push against his shoulder, temporarily knocking Castiel off balance but not enough to make him fall. No one around paid them any attention, however—the action had gone unnoticed, too many people far busier with their jobs and the upcoming race to realize what had happened.

“Well, well, well!” Lucifer snickered as he stopped. “If it isn’t our friendly neighborhood reporter intern back at it for round four.” He ducked his head. “Tell me, seen anything _juicy?_ ”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Castiel answered dryly. Lucifer was only slightly taller than him, but he played it out to make Castiel feel as if he was three feet smaller instead of a few inches.

"Oh, I don’t know. I have to _hand_ it to you, though. You and Dean-o sure look cozy-cozy every now and again.”

Castiel’s blood ran cold.

“Dean is a driver and I a reporter. It is only natural our paths cross, just like yours seems to have so forcibly done with mine today,” he retorted.

“Oh, save the excuses.” The driver waved his hand. “We both know I know it was your hand in the picture, not some maid’s like Dean wants the world to believe.”

“And what makes you believe such a thing?”

“Well, the fact that Adam saw you when he took the damn picture, for one,” Lucifer grinned a wicked grin. “But maybe you didn’t know that piece of information? Adam was trying to show the world Dean wasn’t fit so he could have a crack at the spotlight, but you made that plan blow up.” Lucifer looked just behind Castiel’s shoulder and waved, as if playing the idea that they were merely chatting in passing. For all Castiel knew, maybe that was exactly what Lucifer was doing. “Listen here, Cassie,” his voice dropped, threatening. “This sport is chocked full of secrets and alliances just like the grand ol’ first world war. Journalists don’t want to end up losing their jobs over not being able to get their noses out of where they don’t belong. And they definitely don’t want to lose it over their lover’s affairs,” Every word Lucifer spoke dripped with insinuation and double entendre, the threat as potent as the venom he spat.

“Dean Winchester is not my lover,” Castiel glared back at Lucifer, not daring to lose an inch of ground on the threat he had just been inflicted. He felt something give in his chest at the thought of Dean and him together, but that was hardly the time now. His voice was strong and even.

“Well if that’s the case then you must just be a spy after your own skin,” Lucifer concluded, his hand coming to rest under his chin as if he was thinking critically on the matter, something he clearly wasn’t. “I wonder what would happen to Dean and you if someone exposed that a certain reporter was selling secrets, hmm? Or maybe that’s not true either? Or maybe they’re both true! Well have I got news for you on that front. It doesn’t matter. The media will believe anything, especially if it’s _juicy_. After all, Dean leads with a string of women, not men.”

Castiel dared not blink in the midst of the onslaught, but he felt his blood threaten to boil at the thought that anything that came of this would somehow hurt Dean and his career. It had been clear Dean loved this sport, even if Castiel only barely knew him. Dean would lose everything. “I do not know what you’re talking about, Lucifer, but no one will believe the lies you say.” _Right?_

Lucifer shrugged, seemingly bored with the entire conversation. “What a little, little mind. I’ve been here longer than you have. You do your best to remember that, Novak.” With another push, Lucifer walked passed Castiel without another word, leaving the reporter shaken to his core with no chance to express it.

_Shit._

_Shit shit shit._

Lucifer may not know the whole story, but he had been right about one thing. People will believe him before they’ll believe a nobody rookie like Castiel. It was the lay of the land, the words in a script. If Lucifer wanted to say something––anything then he could.

 _I can’t dwell on this now. I can’t,_ he concluded, but his fervor and any excitement he had originally garnered going into the race was gone, swept away in the wind that drafted through the paddock. Or maybe that was just Hell running cold.

The race continued as if nothing personally chaotic had actually happened, Castiel finding Frank and giving on camera correspondence to Gabriel before the race officially kicked off. He knew he should be paying more attention, watching cars change places and crews get ready for pit stops, but everything seemed to just stop in the two hours it took for a race to start and end. He felt like a robot, on when needed but off when the camera was not facing him. He barely registered that one of the drivers, Arthur Ketch, had crashed and had to take a scooter back to pit lane, delaying the race by a lap as a safety car came out while the rest of his crew retrieved Ketch’s shattered car. That was to be expected out of any race, but what was unexpected was the fact that Sam was having issues with his car.

“Here’s Sam’s radio,” Gabriel introduced:

       

SAM: Car’s sounding weird, guys. What’s going on?

 

He sounded annoyed, more so than when he had barged into Castiel’s room in Australia months ago.

 

TEAM: Checking now, Sam.

 

The Italian accent of the crew was thick in English. If they were speaking English then that meant something was definitely wrong. Ferrari almost always communicated in Italian simply because they could.

       

SAM: How’s Dean’s car? Is he having the same issues?

 

Sam radioed again as he began to lose traction in some of the turns, costing him positions quickly.

 

TEAM: Negative. Dean is running normal.

 

Normally, radio transmissions would end there followed by some sort of commentary on Gabriel’s part, but not this time.

Instead, the radio continued with Sam throwing quite a few terms of colorful language that had been swiftly muted for the live feed, Formula One following the rule of live feeds not actually being 100% live, just enough to not cause a noticeable delay.

“Now why’s Sam mad that he’s the one having problems? It’s not rocket science. They’re two different cars even if they should be identical,” Gabriel had said after the transmissions ended. “Well, must be trouble in paradise for the Winchester duo, looks like. Meanwhile every position Sam has dropped has caused Dean to maintain his current lead in the race as we near the last ten laps.”

 _Ten laps? When did they reach the last leg of the race?_ Sochi was supposed to have 53 total laps. Ketch’s crash had been only about halfway through, hadn’t it? Castiel tried to snap his mind out of the funk Lucifer had created. He really had not been paying any attention, his nerves fried.

The last few laps were eventful in way of Dean battling it out alongside Crowley and Charlie, but it was Sam that continued to throw curses out onto the radio, not all of them transmitted. Whenever they did transmit Dean’s radio, however, it was just to report that he was doing well and that his competitors were about to change tires or within a second of gaining onto him.

 

DEAN: How’s Sam?

 

Dean asked when they neared the end of the race, four laps to go.

 

TEAM: His car is having issues. We think it is a fuel leak or a suspension error.

DEAN: What? How’d that happen? I didn’t see him hit anybody.

TEAM: We’re working on it. _Ora metti a fuoco._

 

The chief leader of the crew replied, the Italian returning. Dean’s radio didn’t sound for the rest of the race, but in the changing of the pits at the last second Crowley managed to get in front of him, effectively winning the race.

“And that’s a wrap on the Russian Grand Prix with Mercedes’s own Crowley McLeod in first place! Ferrari’s Dean Winchester clinches second and Toro Rosso’s senior driver Charlie rounds out the podium on third. Sad day for Sam Winchester, however, as he finished towards the bottom of the points in seventh spot, not the place you want to be if you’re looking to win the driver’s championship.” Gabriel almost sounded sorry for Sam, though in all fairness it was entirely justified. Every fan watching the race, Castiel included, could feel for just how much Sam’s car let him down. Where on one end the radio was filled with an applause for Dean, the other side of the garage was filled with respectable congratulations. Sam had finished in the points, but he only managed to get a total of 6 points to Dean’s 18. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t as massive a loss, but any loss like that could spell the end of a championship for a driver.

Castiel watched the monitors as Dean parked his car next to the 2 on the track just below the podium, he himself getting out and in line while the other drivers weighed in.  Every driver needed to be weighed before and after a race along with their cars so that they fit under regulations to drive. It limited the risk of lighter cars winning races for being faster, and it helped regulate bodies for the drivers as they could lose anywhere between 5 and 10 lbs. of water weight over the course of the two hours with how much they sweat.

He studied Dean’s expression once the driver had taken his helmet off. It wasn’t particularly bad, but it hid the concern Dean must be feeling for Sam. There was also a touch of anger as well, though why that would be, Castiel did not have the answer. There was also a considerable amount of sweat, enough to show Dean’s eyes were slightly sunken.

“Winchester looks too thirsty.” Frank narrowed his eyes at what he saw before him.

“Too thirsty?”

“Almost like he hasn’t been drinking during the race…” He said no more after that, instead pushing past Castiel.

Castiel didn’t have it in him to go to the debrief with the media, but he did step outside where the other reporters would be when the drivers came out to answer more questions in the interviewing circle placed just outside the room. He still wanted to talk to Sam and Dean, to ask if both of them were okay, a respectable question that could be answered on air. Something seemed off.

He did his best to avoid Lucifer while he watched around the circle, a relatively manageable task considering he had placed fifth and thus right in the middle of the points-paying positions. When Sam and Dean did come out, however, it was with a shared irritated face, neither looking at the other as they started on opposite ends of the interviewing circle. When Castiel caught Dean’s attention, Dean merely shook his head and continued on. Sam refused to look at him altogether. _What was going on?_ It was clear they must have had some sort of fight, though Castiel briefly wondered if he was the only to pick up on it judging by how other reporters failed to mention any of the stress Sam seemed to have or cold shoulder Dean was giving off.

The media engulfed Castiel and spat him out to the outskirts before he had the chance to ask what was wrong as both brothers walked away and out of sight.

 

~

 

_C: Are you okay? Is Sam okay?_

_C: Dean, talk to me. Did something happen?_

 

When Castiel texted Dean later that night, he did not get an instant response like he had gotten in the past few days. Instead he spent the majority of the night tossing and turning or catching up on the actual race he’d zoned out of while it played in the hotel. When he did manage to fall asleep Dean still had not responded, but the text had been marked as “read.” Castiel decided then and there that he hated that feature. Sleep barely came, but it alleviated the waiting for a few hours.

When Castiel did wake up to prepare for his incoming trip to Europe for the next race, he found a simple text.

 

**D: Brother issues.**

 

Dean didn’t elaborate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts:
> 
> "Ora metti a fuoco" means "Stay focused" In Italian. Typically, Ferrari almost always communicates strictly in Italian as both a brand and strategic choice as radios are often broadcasted to other teams via the live-feed. This is a race, after all. Can't have your competition trying to decipher your plays, right?


	5. Spain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Sam W. (64 points)  
> Charlie B (58 points)  
> Lucifer M. (53 points)  
> Crowley M. (47 points)  
> Michael S. (43 points)  
> Dean W. (43 points)  
> Kevin T. (42 points)  
> Gadreel P. (16 points)  
> Balthazar R. (15 points)  
> Benny L. (11 points)

Dean did not say a word to Castiel in the two weeks between the Russian Grand Prix and their next race: the Spanish Grand Prix in Cataluña, Spain, though some refer it by the different spelling of Catalunya. Castiel gave up texting and calling him after the first week and a half, instead opting to wait until Dean was ready. It seemed to be a theme with him anyway.

Frank had him on an interview spree even before the race weekend itself started. This would be the first of the European races and by no means the last. That meant Castiel would be running around to factories and interviewing teams closer to their home bases than before. There were also other driving divisions like Formula 2 and GP4 that raced near the same time as Formula 1. He’d managed to do 14 interviewers and 17 media spots before Formula 1 finally came around, and in all that time Castiel had barely seen anything outside his hotel room and interview locations, Spain remaining as much of a mystery to him as it had before. Hannah had wanted him to take pictures, something he had epically failed to do. Instead he took a picture of the world outside his hotel room window, the beautiful Spanish countryside a painting in the viewfinder. At least there would be one that would commemorate such an outrageous adventure Castiel found himself in.

He may have been there a few days longer with the other sports, but today would be the day the majority of the drivers would be flying in for the weekend, Sam and Dean most likely included. Since many teams themselves are based out of Europe, however, the establishments that surrounded the paddock behind the circuit were much more elaborate, entire motor homes that look like concrete buildings popping up within hours of each other as they neared the beginning of the race weekend.

Castiel stood in shock of the Ferrari and Red Bull buildings when he had first laid eyes on them: they were a testament to the colors the teams wore, bold streaks and designs outlining both inside and out, crew and team members alike exiting and entering the building that they would call home. The drivers would also stay there in a special living area of the hospitality units for the European races. This was the time where everyone got out their big guns, a time where showing off was expected.

“Welcome to Europe,” he muttered under his breath as he passed by Frank into the media room and base of operations for this week’s race. There was no driver spotlight that he had to do this time, but the news has been hot in the two weeks spanning the races. Adam’s performance in the last race was the main area of focus, all possible talks that would give any indication of a permanent stay happening behind closed doors. There were rumors Mercedes wanted him full time since Metatron didn’t look like he was coming back at all, going so far as to “borrow” Adam for this race as well. Castiel didn’t know what to make of the news, but he could only assume it wouldn’t sit well with Sam and Dean in the slightest, even less so for how it would look to the media.

Castiel sighed once more as he sat down to receive his location assignments for the weekend’s race. Practice would be relatively calm if everything went according to plan, though to get the definition of calm for a race is basically just saying that he would be working but not overworked. Thursday and Friday came and went, the first practice session having passed that “calm” state, but no drivers were talking any more beyond what they thought about looking forward to the race. This circuit was very similar to Sochi in that overtaking was nearly impossible, thus it would be Qualifying that would play a massive indicator into how things would end.

It was when Saturday finally came around that Castiel had any chance of talking to the drivers he was most keen on, though he took care not to arouse any suspicion amongst his network members. Typically before practice sessions or races, drivers and journalists were not meant to talk much, to help the driver stay focused. It was on race day that journalists hounded the drivers on the start/finish straight when they could, but usually journalists and reporters would talk to drivers after the events of that day for official press conferences. That had been Castiel’s initial plan until he caught sight of a few drivers in the interviewing circle, the familiar streak of red among them.

He patiently waited, as the questions he had were not meant to be overheard by any nosy microphones or camera crews, not really. Dean was the one to come out first from the interviewing circle, en route to the hospitality units and the massive Ferrari motor unit when he spotted Castiel. He stood frozen for a brief few seconds, the Ferrari rep next to him saying something Castiel could not hear over the roar of crowds and engines alike gearing up for the day. Dean turned to the rep and spoke back, though he turned in such a way that the rep could not see Castiel. He only pointed briefly before parting ways with her, advancing in Castiel’s direction a few minutes later. Though his face was concealed behind dark sunglasses and the team’s red hat, Dean still crooked his head to signal that Castiel move from the middle of where he was in the crowd.

He listened in turn, moving to behind one of the hospitality units of the lesser known teams just near Ferrari’s area so as to not arouse suspicion that Dean was going elsewhere. He felt his heartbeat quicken, though his body showed no signs of anxiety or shivering. Then again, sometimes Castiel wondered if his body was his own with how often it chose to do that which Castiel did not feel and vice versa.

When Dean finally did join him he raised one hand, his head turned to look behind him. “Hey,” he started curtly.

“What is wrong, Dean?” Castiel cut to the chase. There were entire conversations warring inside him as he put words together. “What happened in Russia?”

Dean lowered his head. “Look, I know I owe you an explanation for ghosting, but I don’t have the time,” he cursed. “Sorry, that came out wrong, but I just need to ask you something.”

“Ask _me_ something? That isn’t usually how this has worked thus far,” Castiel commented, but he paused to let Dean continue.

Even with sunglasses blocking his eyes, Castiel knew something had just passed over them. “Has Sam been acting weird lately to you?”

“In all fairness, you both have been,” the reporter surmised. “Why do you ask?”

“Okay, point. It’s just - he’s been hanging around Lucifer a lot lately, just outta the blue, and I feel like something’s up.”

Castiel’s blood stopped at the mention of Lucifer, a previous conversation being called to mind. He should tell Dean, he knew he should, but to tell him now would mess with Dean’s head or would hurt him, especially if Sam could somehow be involved. “I promise you I don’t know anything about that, Dean, but it sounds like something you two should talk about.”

Dean remained silent, as if considering his words. He huffed. “I’ll… see you at the interviewing circle.” He began to turn back in the direction of the Ferrari area.

“O-okay. Good luck, Dean.” Castiel called to a receding back. The only indication that he got that said Dean had even heard him was a hand hesitantly raised up in the air. _What is happening?_

Castiel sighed once more, his eyes trailing to one of the watches placed above the square behind the homes to help keep everyone on time. He was about to be late to the start of practice, though Practice 3 was hardly ever televised. He could do with being a little late making his way back, so that is what Castiel did, taking his time to walk around the paddock as the airplane level engines broke the speed of sound no more than 100 feet away from him. When he finally did make it back to the media center, Frank was about to have his head.

“This one isn’t televised, Frank,” Castiel reminded him, his voice conveying the annoyance and confusion he felt. It was enough to calm the senior reporter down, but not without Frank giving him more work for Qualifying, like keeping track of fastest lap times. Castiel found himself welcoming the work once Qualifying began, however. It helped him to not think about whatever in the world must be happening in the Ferrari camp between the two brothers, or about what Sam was doing with Lucifer.

For Qualifying itself, the two Ferrari drivers locked out the front row to start the race with Sam in pole position and Dean coming in second. Lucifer was just behind them, something Castiel wasn’t sure was an omen or just a fact of life. It would mean one thing, however: both drivers would talk to the network during the debriefing and interview circle.

Frank handled the debrief and told Castiel to set up for the interviewing circle once drivers started getting out. He managed to talk to some that had qualified lower such as Garth and Ash from Harvelle and the British Men of Letters team, Mick Davies and Arthur Ketch. For some reason, Ketch didn’t like his first name.

When the top three drivers finally did arrive to the interviewing circle it was almost as if they were back in Russia once more, Sam and Dean’s posture echoing that they had just gotten out of some sort of fight. Both started on opposite ends of the circle, Lucifer striding right through the middle where Castiel and the network (unfortunately) were. By that point, however, Frank had arrived and dove straight into asking Lucifer questions that seemed to have begun a conversation in the debriefing room. Castiel was doing his best to simply avoid Lucifer’s gaze, his eyes instead trained on the backs of the two Winchester brothers.

Sam’s shoulders were hunched over, tension etched as clear as day into the lines his driver’s suit created around him. Dean had his arms crossed as he walked, speaking clearly but with an edge in his voice that Castiel could hear from the other side of the circle. Despite them starting at the same time with Castiel being in the middle, it was Sam that made it to their interview spot first, Frank having relented and clapped Castiel on the back to signal that he should take this one.

Castiel nodded and turned, attempting to find the softer side of Sam Winchester that he had seen very often. Instead he was merely met with one angry moose that towered over him. His hazel eyes looked almost black.

“Hello, Sam Winchester,” Castiel began, “how are you feeling after qualifying first for the Spanish Grand Prix?” Castiel spoke cordially, sensing that Sam was a coil about to break.

“No comment,” Sam spoke quickly and loudly, drawing the attention of the crew and Frank as Castiel weighed his options.

“O-okay,” he rebounded. “So then, how did your car feel? It seemed that you were having iss—”

“With all due respect, Mr. Novak, I do not wish to take questions from you,” Sam spoke with venom in his voice, potent enough to rival Lucifer’s own. It stopped Castiel cold.

“I’m sorry?”

“I wish to speak with the senior reporter, if it is alright with you.” Even the Ferrari rep next to Sam was fidgety and uncomfortable with how tense the air suddenly felt.

Castiel narrowed his eyes, trying his hardest to communicate with Sam silently like he had been able to do with Dean. If it worked Sam refused to talk, his entire demeanor only shifting once Frank tentatively grabbed the microphone out of Castiel’s hand. “Why don’t you just listen in for now,” he spoke to Castiel softly, the first-time Frank had shown him any sort of tenderness. All Castiel felt inside was hollow, but he nodded before retreating from the public eye of the fellow reporters and drivers around them that had heard the entire conversation. It was only after Castiel turned and left altogether that he realized what had truly happened.

Sam didn’t want to speak to him at all, and Dean had said Sam had been around Lucifer a lot more. What if it was because of Lucifer’s threat, his wanting to plant secrets? Castiel shook himself out of his thoughts. Sam was a man of reason. He was not swayed lightly, even by the likes of Lucifer. There had to be something else…

Only, Castiel knew there wasn’t.

He waited until the night descended almost fully, the clock near his bed reading a quarter past 1 in the morning, to attempt to call Dean. The race would be in the afternoon like the others, but that still meant every driver should be well rested. Castiel should not be making the call at such an hour. Dean was not an insomniac like he was.

Dean picked up after the second attempt, a strained voice filling Castiel’s ear.

“Cas,” is all he spoke into the receiver.

“Do you know why Sam refused to talk to me?” Castiel barely gave Dean a chance to wake up fully judging by how his voice had first sounded.

“Yeah,” a tired voice answered back, some of the anger Castiel felt receding along with it. “I think I’m in the ballpark of ideas.” He sounded tense now, every word sharp.

Castiel was quick on his feet. “Is he there with you?”

“Yeah, he’s here, but he doesn’t want me talking to you right now.”

“What? Since when do you listen to your bro—”

“I gotta go.” Dean ended the call before Castiel could finish speaking, his words dying in his throat. He stared at his phone after before it buzzed, a quick message having been typed out.

 

**D: Call u in a bit**

 

Castiel huffed. He hated feeling like there was something he was at fault for, and now it was clear to him that whatever Sam and Dean were fighting about involved him. It was nearly two hours later before Dean called again.

“Dean?” He hated how his voice must sound, like one that was about to receive terrible news.

“Yeah, I’m here. Listen—”

“You’re fighting about me.”

“… Yeah. Sam thinks you were the one to leak about Adam to the press before the news broke out because I had told you about it and about sabotaging his car last race.”

“Me? Sabotage his car?” Castiel parroted, confusion in his voice. “And the news about Adam was only rumors at that point that fans pieced together. Frank was mad we never got information about it.”

“I know, I remember. The mechanics found that someone purposely messed with the transmission and suspension of the car sometime between Quali and the race. He thought it could’ve been you because, I dunno, Lucifer told him something or whatever. Point is, Cas, I know it’s not true.”

Castiel let out a breath and paused. “Thank you, Dean, but… is that why you showed me your car?”

“No, no. Not really. I wanted to show it to you anyway,” A pause. “But it did help in showing Sam you had no clue where the door or anything in the car even was,” he petered off.

“Dean…”

“Look, I’m sorry about that. It’s nuts, I know, but don’t let Sasquatch get to you. He’s just being a little brat right now.” Dean spoke, words sounding as if they were both filled with anger and annoyance, but not solely at Sam himself.

Castiel listened to the phone for a few minutes silently. He didn’t like to be the center of a conflict in any situation, but especially not when there was a race the next day. This would affect their mental states, and he has seen what happens when a driver is not fully involved with his vehicle.

“We’ll get it figured out, Cas. Don’t worry.”

“How do you know I’m worrying?” Castiel’s tone betrayed his words, his voice wavering towards the end.

“Because you just went radio silent on me and I just know your head did that little tilt thing it does when you think too hard,” Dean tried to lighten the mood.

“I am not—” It was then that Castiel caught sight of himself in the hotel mirror, his entire head tilted at an angle. “I do not want to know how you knew that.” Dean only chuckled on the other end.

“So, are you good?”

“...I’m concerned, Dean, but yes, I am okay. The only thing I can tell you about Lucifer is that we just did a spotlight interview with him where we mentioned Adam just before Russia, but there was nothing more after that. He kept deflecting all of my questions back at me. And I would never sabotage your brother.” He didn’t want to burden Dean with what Lucifer had said, however. Dean was already affected by the battle with his brother. He did not need one more thing to worry about before a race.

It took awhile for Dean to answer after that.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, still here. But I have to go catch some sleep, man. I’ll see you tomorrow.”  The call ended soon after. Something must have struck a nerve with Dean, but Castiel could not figure out what it was that did it.

One thing was for sure: Lucifer was pitting Sam and Dean against each other and it was Castiel that was in the middle of all of this. Castiel cursed. He hated being placed in this position.

 

~

 

Gabriel seemed more than amped for the start of the race the following day, any rumors or speculation be damned as he spoke to the crowd for the pre-race show.

“Welcome, ladies and gents, to the Circuit Catalunya here in beautiful Spain! First of our European races and a very warm welcome has already been extended to all that live and breathe this sport, myself included. We’ve got quite the tale in store for all of you out there today, with our front row most brother of brother duo seemingly not on good terms this weekend, though whatever is happening in Casa Winchester has yet to affect their performance. As for those waiting in the wings, will it be Lucifer’s turn to have a go at the top spot or will the red flag of Ferrari overshadow Red Bull today? And in other news where the Big Three are concerned, it looks like the good ol’ pot is getting sweeter with news that Adam Milligan, former Ferrari reserve driver, may be in the final stretches of reaching an agreement to take the place of Metatron in the Mercedes car. Let’s bring it down to our paddock correspondent to hear the latest regarding Metatron. Castiel? You alive down there?”

Gabriel talked too much, but in this case it gave Castiel just enough time to get his head screwed on to have been briefed on the statement put out by Mercedes regarding Metatron. He was ready.

“Yes, and hello to you all out there once more. We have recently been told that Metatron, the junior driver in the Mercedes team, has issued a statement stating that due to the unforeseen severity of the crash sustained back in Australia, it is becoming all the more likely that health will prevail over racing. Since the team is the owner of the car and Metatron is under a contract, it does free up the possibility of Adam Milligan being signed in the interim to compete for the constructor’s championship and earn more points for the team to maintain competitive. No word yet on how the Ferrari camp is dealing with this, but that is all the information made public at this time.” Castiel chose his words carefully, hyper aware that eyes were undoubtedly on him and what he would say. If Sam thought he sabotaged his car and had something to do with leaking news about Adam, not matter how far-fetched the claim, he had to be on his toes even more now. Divulging a fragment of information, even accidentally, could be disastrous.

Thankfully, Gabriel didn’t push or ask any follow-ups even though that was network procedure while they filled airtime before the race. Instead he continued rambling on about how the Spanish culture and crowds always welcome the sport with open arms. Castiel took the time to gather his thoughts on the words he had just spoken aloud. If it really was true and it looked like Metatron wouldn’t be returning, then Adam would become the new driver and thus one more person on the track that Sam and Dean had to compete with, but more importantly it would mean one more person on the track that harbored a grudge towards the Winchesters.

Castiel huffed as he made his way down to where drivers and celebrities alike were mingling between the cars before the race would begin. He passed by the people holding the numbers of the drivers on their grid spot positions and idly asked team principles and some drivers what they thought about going into the race. Sam made a point to not go anywhere near him, and Dean was being blocked off by team personnel around his car more often than not. The front row should be both Ferrari, but today it felt like Ferrari was competing against itself, Sam and Dean giving each other looks when the other wasn’t paying attention, their respective pit crew teams not mingling amongst themselves like they normally would. Instead, both were focused on their respective car. Castiel hadn’t planned on talking to them before the race started regardless, but he felt a pang in his gut to think that both of them were in a fight he was in the center of.

His eyes trailed down to the second row where Lucifer’s red and blue car sat pristine and ready to run, Lucifer himself making final checks and trying his hardest to sway the woman that had been tasked with standing by his grid spot number. Castiel took a small amount of pride in watching how the woman deflected every motion Lucifer attempted to give until the driver gave up. He found comfort in knowing that Lucifer as a person was not well liked, driving record not even considered.

“They’re clearing the track. Get off and head back to the media center,” Frank radioed over Castiel’s headphones. Castiel answered briefly before he grasped the headphones hard. They had been Dean’s headphones first, he still used them despite the feud they were all in. Briefly he wondered if Dean had seen that amongst the wall of red that surrounded his car when Castiel had walked by.

He chided himself. _Dean has more important issues right now, not to mention the fact that both his brother and he are currently not speaking to you._ When this race was over, he was going to try to clear the air for his part, even if it would be at the risk of someone following him to their hotel room tonight.

Castiel briskly walked to the edge of the start/finish line just as the cars began to make their way on their lap of reconnaissance, Sam’s blue and yellow helmet now becoming the only way to distinguish between the two Ferrari cars apart from the numbers on them, Sam’s number 2 to Dean’s 67. He had made it back to the media center just in time to watch the lights go green and the race begin.

“And it’s lights out and away we go!” Gabriel went into hyper drive mode. “Sam Winchester gets off well—So does Dean, and he’s wheel to wheel with Lucifer Morningstar. And we have Lucifer Morningstar—Lucifer has passed Dean Winchester! Lucifer has managed to pass the senior driver and is now barreling down the nose of Sam as they battle it out! They’re going into the first turn and it’s Sam breaking a little earlier and he’s getting swelled up by Lucifer! LUCIFER HAS PASSED SAM WINCHESTER, and the Toro Rosso just behind has gone off the track! It is now Lucifer Morningstar that leads them away as Sam is gaining just behind, Dean right on his heels! And there’s Crowley’s Mercedes into the gravel as he’s pushed off the grid!” Gabriel spoke like an auctioneer, relaying action as quickly as it occurred with little to no delay in the slightest.

The cars were still close together that it made it dangerous for turns, as evidenced by the start of the race itself with a fair number being pushed off the track due to the high-speed congestion, both Sam and Dean losing a spot in kind as a result. They were now racing down the next set of turns neck and neck, but where Dean should have relented and gone behind Sam to get the best possible line and not spin out, he instead chose to stay out and battle his younger brother for the spot.

“And what’s this! The two teammates are racing against each other at the very get go of this race, ladies and gentlemen! There’s no friendly sibling rivalry here as Sam closes Dean out from passing him on the next turn! But Dean looks like he’s not giving up yet, no team orders having been issued to them to tell them to cool off! If they keep this up, one of them is sure to—holy smokes! SAM AND DEAN HAVE JUST CRASHED EACH OTHER OUT! Repeat, Sam and Dean Winchester have collided just at the back end of turn eight! There is a yellow flag in that sector now!” Gabriel spoke almost too fast for Castiel to register what had happened.

Sam and Dean took each other out of the race. They had been driving as if they were on different teams instead of working together. When you are moving at the speed of light, you are bound to collide with each other.

It hadn’t been a massive crash, thankfully. No cars flipped this time, but it was enough for Sam’s suspension to get blasted into the tire wall that surrounded every circuit, Dean’s wing colliding with Sam’s front set of tires and pinning them both out and onto the gravel before stopping. Both brothers got up and out of their cars after a minute, but both carried the body language of being absolutely beyond _pissed._ Neither helmet so much as glanced in the other’s direction, both drivers making their way to the nearest exit as the yellow flag continued to tell the others still racing to be cautious in that area. Lucifer was still well in the lead, Charlie and Lucifer’s teammate Michael rounding out the top three for now.

“Haven’t seen them that mad since Dean’s rookie season,” Frank commented, his fingers typing furiously as he spoke to Castiel. “Last time he looked like that, the story broke out that it was over some girl. Looks like history repeats itself.”

Castiel groaned. _If only it were that simple._

“What was that?” Frank turned at the sound of Castiel’s groan. Oops.

“I did not say anything, but I do not think it is about a girl this time. Then again, I did not see Dean’s first season as a driver,” he covered. It was just enough information to appease Frank, but not enough to reveal that he knew anything more about the situation.

Frank only turned to his computer. “Well, don’t go running out like you did last time one of ‘em crashed out. They’ll hold the pity interviews since they can’t leave without doing ‘em, but I’ll handle those.

Castiel nodded, but his mind working on a separate issue. That would mean he wouldn’t get the chance to speak with Sam and Dean today. To ask to do them would spike Frank’s interest, but he would try tonight.

The race continued with little incident after, just good old fashioned friendly racing with competitive spurts here and there. Garth was the only other driver to get out of the race, his tire punctured to a point where he spun out and caused another yellow flag farther along. Every once in awhile during the race the cameras would pan to Dean sitting in the Ferrari garage on opposite ends, watching the telemetry of other cars and other presumably technical aspects. His eyes only darted to the screen every once in awhile, but Sam was nowhere in sight. The eldest Winchester wore an expression of anger that was being withheld, but it was not for his cars. The cars, thankfully, would survive with repairs. Castiel knew it was because of their fight with each other.

When the race did end, the final results were Charlie claiming first place followed by Michael and, in a surprise turn, French driver Benny Lafitte from Turner Renault taking third. It was always a big deal when smaller constructors made the points, but to make the podium was the equivalent of winning it all for them. Lucifer had suffered a misplaced pit stop that caused him to come out just after Benny towards the end of the race, and Benny had made it clear he was not going to be overtaken by even the most experienced of drivers.

Castiel watched the on-set podium interviews after the national anthems were played for the winner and their constructor and the celebratory champagne was spread everywhere among the three drivers in the top. The interviewer, an old driver that had now become a F1 correspondent, was talking to Benny and Charlie, Michael having had his turn and being as stoic as ever with his responses, never smiling or giving any sort of emotion. As Castiel watched, he caught sight of the other drivers watching from their respective locations, giving him the opportunity to see Dean sporting a massive smile on his face when Benny was speaking. Castiel assumed they must be friends, but when he looked to where Sam had rematerialized it was clear that Benny and Sam were most likely _not_ friends.

The parties were in full swing by the time Castiel made it back to his hotel room, the painting that was the countryside outside his window now quiet except for the sound of him shuffling items around and making sure his suitcase was fully packed or at least in the process. He waited until it neared midnight before heading over to where he believed the drivers were staying. Though he wasn’t sure where Sam and Dean would be this time, he did recognize a few faces of the crew on their respective teams, allowing for him to pinpoint the hotel and narrow down his search.

That was as far as he got before he was met with a few men in suits in the lobby of the hotel.

“You Castiel Novak?” a thick Italian accent asked gruffly.

“Yes, sir.”

“You cannot be here under orders of Billie, the team and drivers. They crash today and need rest. We apologize but we see you out,” the man spoke in curt sentences, hands moving faster than his words were. Before Castiel knew it, he was escorted out and back to his hotel, the bodyguards having the decency to not be seen when they dropped Castiel off.

Castiel slowly made his way back up to his hotel room, his head hanging low. It would be another two weeks until arguably one of the biggest races on the calendar: Monaco, home to many of the drivers and many more celebrities. He sighed at the thought. A few weeks ago, he had the audacity to think that Dean would show him around the city by the sea if given the chance, especially considering how there would be a party almost every night of the race weekend there hosted to honor the drivers and the sport. Now it looked like that would never be possible again. Castiel had gotten exactly 20% of the ability to see the world, and almost every adventure had been because of Dean.

He felt a ping in his pocket, then, like an answer from God.

 

**D: You came to the hotel? How’d you know where we were?**

_C: I saw crewmembers and attempted to track them to the hotel. Forgive me, should I not have done that?_

**D: …No, it’s fine. It’s just things are a little on the defcon 4 side here. Probably not your smartest move.**

**D: I wish I could talk but things are happening.**

_C: Dean, you have to know that I had no part in anything Sam is accusing me of. Please, you have to know that._

**D: Yeah. That’s his problem.**

 

He did not respond after that. Castiel once again found himself packing up his belongings in preparation to leave a place he never had the chance to get out and see. Even breaks between races wasn’t vacation time for either the drivers or anyone else involved in the sport; they still had to work, only it was a little less glamorous before the race weekend. That was what Castiel would be doing until Monaco, and unless he got to talk to Sam soon, he feared something worse would happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> When you are moving at the speed of life, you are bound to collide with each other. – Unknown


	6. Monaco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Charlie B. (83 points)  
> Lucifer M. (65 points)  
> Sam W. (64 points)  
> Michael S. (61 points)  
> Crowley M. (57 points)  
> Kevin T. (48 points)  
> Dean W. (43 points)  
> Benny L. (26 points)  
> Gadreel P. (18 points)  
> Balthazar R. (16 points)

Two weeks passed, Dean remaining radio silent while Castiel dodged harboring looks and concerned faces from the driver’s team and his own crew and network. Even Frank began avoiding sending him to Ferrari garages for a while, but all things must be faced when the enemy is time itself.

Monaco, the home of so many drivers and arguably the most important race on the Formula One calendar, was the next race. Every driver wanted to win here. Celebrities and racers alike mingled on the yachts and docks that peppered the principality that is Monaco, located on the Côté d’Azur just near France. It’s paradise, the Garden of Eden. Castiel had never seen anything like it when he first arrived, the entire city perched upon different elevations and hillsides, the track itself serpentine and weaving around in the very streets cars were driving on just the day before he had arrived. Monaco was a street circuit, and arguably the hardest one to overtake on. Things were different here regulation-wise because of its notoriety. Frank had already debriefed him on the plane ride over.

“Now drivers like to stay in the zone, so we won’t be getting much chance to do interviews right away,” he had said. “That don’t mean we’re off the hook. We’re still covering Practice Sessions as well as the race itself, and Practice One and Two are on the same day.”

“They are?” Castiel had asked, the plane only then making its final descent into the area where the airport was.

“There’s a day off here on Fridays. Lets the drivers go home and what not, or do what they want while here. We don’t follow them because most know the place better than we do, but we’re still working Friday while other races are going on. F1 isn’t the only one here at the same time, kid.”

That had been the end of the conversation, Castiel learning that he would have one day in between his work to focus on other tasks the network might present him. The night, however, would be his to explore.

Free Practice 1 went by in a whirl, the taste of Monaco coming in short spurts as Castiel found himself meeting celebrities and famous Formula One legends alike that had come to watch the hotel. The Paddock Club was filled with small champagne glasses and waiters moving from here to there, the garages equally as filled with “special guests” that were fans of one particular team or another. Castiel found himself merely being the mouthpiece more often than not. With very few drivers to talk to right now, he could listen in to Gabriel’s commentary over the radio better.

“We’ve got a few drivers out on track in different areas today,” Gabriel had said. “But what a place to be here trackside, huh folks and gents? This track is built right next to famous hotspots all over beautiful Monaco, so why don’t we take it down to our man on the ground, Castiel Novak, to tell us a bit about the places? Cassie?” Gabriel’s pause was Castiel’s cue. Luckily, he had done his research.

“Welcome everyone,” he began feeding his voice into the microphone attached to his headphones, “There are six key points located at various turns throughout the circuit. As the drivers start off the race they head to Saint Devote, Massenet, and Casino Square until they turn into the famous Fairmont Hairpin before making their way to where the Piscine is located just before La Rascasse and the Prince’s Palace here, around and around for the duration of the race until one is crowned victorious.” Castiel had a general idea as to why the places he’d just named are important, but if he was asked to elaborate he would have no idea beyond the names and locations. Regardless, he instantly knew where he was on the track at all times, past knowledge or not.

“It’s your first time here, right my man?” Gabriel’s voice fed through his ears.

“Yes, and so far it has been otherworldly,” Castiel responded truthfully. The circumstances he currently found himself in aside, Monaco truly was Atlantis above the ocean, a lost paradise amongst human civilization.

“Well hopefully no one catches you out late tonight before the day off. We need you bright and early tomorrow for our other races…” Gabriel went off into what the network had lined up for the day Formula One was not on air, a note Castiel found himself to be tuning out more of than he should be. After all, knowing what he was covering was part of his job.

When it was clear Gabriel would not be reaching out to him any time soon, Castiel found himself walking amongst pit lane from garage to garage. Now that they were well into the season he could venture a little closer inside without being shooed away, the smaller constructors being more akin to allowing him the luxury of interviewing their chief engineers and team principles. When he reached Mercedes’s garage he saw that Metatron’s car was still in his respective side of the garage, the name above signaling Metatron’s name and number. The last Castiel knew, however, the driver would not be racing this race. That most likely meant Adam was not racing either. He received a fair number of looks as he continued walking past. Neither Adam nor Crowley were in the garage, Crowley himself out practicing in his car and Adam most likely in a hospitality unit somewhere behind closed doors.

He expected to be met with some sort of reserved attitude. It was clear Adam did not like him for helping Dean recover from his injury, and his conversations with Lucifer and even with Michael at times made him weary of somehow disturbing him further. The only time they talked was during an interview, something normally to be expected of drivers and reporters.

It was when Castiel found himself near the Ferrari garage that he felt his guard rise further.

Sam had been out on the track, but Dean sat in his car as the engineers worked in a frenzy around him, a monitor placed atop the cockpit where Dean sat so that he could see the transmission and times of other drivers compared to his own. When Castiel was within sight of the garage he was met with apprehensive glares he only half expected. Though Dean’s stark red helmet was on, Castiel knew the other man had seen him as well. The helmet only nodded at him, more conversation than they had had in two weeks entirely. Castiel took it as a good sign that Dean would do even that small of an action in the presence of his weary crew members. He did not stop to talk to anyone, but Castiel did notice how the crew slowly pushed him farther out from the garage area than other teams had.

After walking through pit lane, Castiel made his way back to where Gabriel’s commentary booth and Frank’s control base were in one of the main buildings just over the start/finish straight behind some of the grand stands set up for fans. By then, Free Practice 1 had ended and Free Practice 2 was halfway through completion of the standard time, drivers and reporters alike gearing up to continue or reset the work they had already done that same morning. Time quite literally does fly in this sport.

“Nice interview with the Formula Facers team,” Frank called to him once Castiel had made it inside. “They don’t get much airtime but they’re decent kids.”

“They seem to really enjoy learning.” Castiel placed the microphone he had been carrying in its respective holder as he sat down, his headphones going around his neck. “Both think they already know everything, however.”

“Eyes set on the big life, Ed and Harry. Racing here’s practically a dream for them like all the other rookies and young ones.” Frank furiously typed away through his computer, his eyes never leaving the screen as he spoke to Castiel.

“So I’ve heard,” Castiel responded. His mind was elsewhere looking up at the monitors. They were currently focused on Dean making his way through the incredibly narrow turns. One misstep and he could end up sideways into the wall or worse, especially here. “Why is everyone obsessed with this particular race?” he whispered below his breath.

“What’s that?” Frank’s eyes moved to land on Castiel. “Like you don’t know how important Monaco is.”

Castiel froze. “Yes, of course I know,” he said evenly. He knew that this was the race many drivers considered their home race, the reason why so many wanted to win it, but he still did not understand what made the place so important compared to other races on the calendar. Castiel had almost forgotten he was expected to already know all of this information.

Frank only narrowed his eyes, however, inspecting Castiel’s posture. He seemed to debate something in his head before answering. “Been meaning to ask, but where’d you get the headphones? They’re not network’s.”

“They were a gift from a friend after I got the internship,” Castiel fiddled with the microphone the network had attached to Dean’s old headphones that he’d given Castiel what felt like eons ago now. “One of the engineers hooked it up so that I could still use them for interviews during the first race.” Hannah had always told him he was not the best actor, but he had to be now for Frank, of all people, to buy his story.

“Hmph.” The senior reporter looked at him for a few more minutes before turning back to the computer and the monitors while Gabriel continued speaking. He said no more to Castiel for the remainder of the Qualifying session. “Well, been meaning to talk to you about something the network wants to start up for qualifying.”

“What do they want to do?” Castiel still barely knew who “they” really was, but he did not argue.

“Mr. Edlund wants you to talk to the drivers that qualify in the top three in front of the fans, ask them a few questions about how they felt and what not and what it’s like being here. Nothing too special, save that for me in the debrief unless something major happens.” Frank eyed him them once more, his gaze almost scrutinizing. “That includes the Winchesters, if they qualify that high up. You understand?”  
“Mr. Edlund?”

Frank narrowed his eyes. “Carver Edlund. As in, the guy that’s been footing your bill and top of the sport. Did you not listen to that last part?”

Castiel stared back, cautious. “Yes sir,” he merely responded. If it was a request from the head of the sport himself, then who was he to question it? Castiel turned his attention back to the practice session nearing its end not too long after.

“It’ll help you on the flip side, too. Don’t know if you’ve been following, but you’re not doing so hot in the press right now after the little Winchester tearing you a new one in your last interview.” Frank commented on the side, though his eyes betrayed the gears turning in his head. Castiel made a mental note to thank Carver Edlund himself, if he ever did get the chance to meet the head of the sport and overseer to everything involving media publications, but a part of him did not enjoy having to balance what portion of his life was put out into the world and why he felt the need to be seen in that way.

Drivers could practice starts and getaways once the practice session time had been met, something that, though not uncommon, was usually not televised. Regardless, Castiel found himself looking at the different cars that lined up at different grid spots to start practicing, some getting better starts than others. He noted how quick Sam seemed to be, Dean also seeming to get good times in between sprints. Qualifying on Saturday would be interesting for them both, especially on a track where every race winner thus far has won the race after having qualified in either pole or second. Castiel could have sworn the older Winchester had been looking up from time to time while he practiced, but the visor of his helmet prevented Castiel from seeing any eyes whatsoever behind the lens. Hopefully he would be up to having a conversation soon. Dean had been a rock during Castiel’s entire time on the job, even if he knew that seeing him outside of their jobs was risky from the very beginning. To go without speaking with him after such a trifle misunderstanding felt wrong. Castiel wanted to make it right.

The next day was a day off, even if Castiel had to give a small portion of commentary for other races going on. He knew Gabriel would not be relying on him for much, the senior commentator knowing Castiel’s limited knowledge base of the world he found himself in outside of F1 (Something Castiel silently thanked him for). What mattered was the night, so when it came, Castiel found himself in his room reviewing data from the practice sessions that had just passed as well as information on those unknown racers and cars for the lower series that he would need for tomorrow.

Frank was the only one to call him as of late, usually telling him to remember a microphone or piece of information , therefore when his phone rang near three in the morning Castiel instantly picked it up and put it to his ear. “What did I forget this time, Frank?” he spoke automatically.

“Don’t think you forget much. You’ve got that look, man,” a slurred voice came on the other end. Castiel instantly recognized who was speaking.

“Dean?” He did not realize he whispered the name. “What is going on? Are you okay?”

“‘m fine. Calm down, Nanny McPhee.”

“I don’t know who that i—”

“Not the point of why I called. Can you com’ over? Need to talk.”

“...Is everything okay?” Castiel needed an answer if he was to do anything.

“It’s better, but it’s not something I want on the phone,” Dean stifled what sounded like a burp. “Well that, and I think if we do talk on the phone I’m just gonna pass out.”

“Are you drunk?”

“What is this, twenty questions?” Dean paused. It sounded like he was taking a drink. “Fairmont, Room 6024. See ya in a few.” The call ended as suddenly as it had begun. Castiel found himself blinking at the phone in his hand a few times before he sighed. He had wanted a chance to talk to Dean privately, and even if it meant a drunk Dean, he would take his chances.

“He should not be drinking right now,” Castiel muttered as he made his way to the famous Fairmont Hotel just outside the equally as famous Fairmont Hairpin. Music could be heard from the various parties on the yachts in the harbor as well as the clubs near the hotels.

Monaco truly was the apex of where high society met top velocity. It felt like an entirely different world to be in lobbies and hotel rooms filled with renaissance architecture and large and small foyers. Dean’s room was not far into the hotel itself, though Castiel made sure not to have a repeat offense in being recognized by any of Dean’s crew members once more. He made sure to dress as indistinguishable as possible, making his way up the elevator and to Dean’s door with relative ease.

Once Castiel knocked on the door it swung open almost immediately to reveal green eyes clouded, the smell of alcohol wafting out like a cologne. Dean had a small smile plastered onto his face that quickly turned into a playful frown, eyes scanning up and down Castiel’s frame. “What are you, holy tax accountant?”

Castiel surveyed his wardrobe, unassuming clothes covered by his tan trench coat that he took nearly everywhere except for the race track. “I do not see how my clothes make me look holy or a tax accountant.”

“Guess not,” Dean scrunched his nose, “but get in here before someone sees you.” Instead of turning to let Castiel pass inside, Dean moved to place his arm around to Castiel’s back to guide the other man inside, his hand not leaving the spot it had chosen until the door was fully locked and Castiel was seated in the room’s lounge area.

The hotel room was spacious, an adjacent room connecting to what appeared to be a king size bed while the kitchen and small lounge area acted as the central entrance room that connected to the main room door. Castiel assumed another door connected to the neighboring suite no doubt held Sam, but he was not in the room with Dean.

“Sam’s out like a light, if that’s what you’re thinkin’.” Dean turned to the reporter after having managed to get his way through to the kitchen, two bottles of beer now in his hands. He offered one to Castiel before sitting down right next to him, knees bouncing against the other occasionally.

“Is he okay?”

“Oh yeah, he’s fine. Just being little brother Sam as always.” Dean threw him a smirk.

Castiel observed Dean. He looked relatively okay, save for the fact that it was obvious the beer he currently held in his hand was not the first one of the night. “You should not be drinking right now,” he cautioned.

Dean moved to wave his words away as if they were nothing but clouds in the sky. “I’ve got a day, and I won’t tell if you won’t. Technically, you shouldn’t either.”

“I, unlike you, have work tomorrow, but I have a high alcohol tolerance,” Castiel shot back.

“Bet it’s not as high as mine,” Dean retorted as he took a large gulp of his current beer. “Bet you can’t guess how many this one makes.”

“I do not think I want to know.”

“I could probably drink you under the table,” Dean poked Castiel’s shoulder. This was weird behavior for him.

Castiel paused. “What is going on, Dean? Why did you call?”

The question seemed to sober Dean up enough to cause him to frown. “Sam’s not mad at you, just so you know. We cleared the air.” Dean’s green eyes avoided Castiel’s gaze.

“What happened?” Castiel prodded. This was the conversation he had been trying to have.

“Apparently Lucifer was painting stories in his head about you, which is why Sam gave you the cold shoulder in Spain. It got to a point where the team didn’t want me talking to you either.”

“I was wondering why you had suddenly started listening to your brother. You did not seem like the one who would simply follow.”

“Of course I don’t listen to my brother,” Dean scoffed, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “He listens to _me._ It’s the team that’s a different story. You know me, who do you think I am?” He took another drink of his beer.

Castiel knew the beer in his hand could not have such a fast reaction, but he found himself speaking before he thought. “I don’t know you, Dean. Not really.”

It seemed to give Dean pause enough to finally look at Castiel, his eyes focusing through the haze Castiel could see he was fighting through. “Guess not, huh?”

They remained silent for a few minutes, both simply staring at the other. In a world where speed was the ultimate factor, the ability to slow down was the ultimate superpower. It felt like hours before Dean spoke again.

“You ‘member back in Bahrain? When we were tryin’ to get to know each other?”

“Yes,” Castiel confirmed. “You didn’t like the streets and thought I needed protecting.”

“N-no, that is _not_ what I thought.” Dean shook his head, his tone clearly one of amusement. “You told me about life and I listened.”

“As I recall, you did not tell me anything about you, not really.”

“What, you didn’t google me?”

“I believe at this stage of us knowing each other, it is safe to say you should not listen to all that you read.”

“That another quote?” Dean smiled.  
“Possibly.”

“You realize how backwards that makes your words sound, right?”

Castiel breathed. This conversation was going nowhere. “Dean, I would really love to hear about your life,” he drank from the bottle in his hand, catching on to Dean’s game. “If you like to ask questions so much, maybe you should be the reporter.”

Dean sat back into the couch, his eyes traveling up to the ceiling. “I do that a lot, don’t I?”

“If by that you mean diverting attention off yourself, you just did it again,” Castiel chuckled. Dean gave an equally infectious laugh that sent butterflies into Castiel’s stomach. He needed to figure out how to make Dean laugh more like that.

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“Like what?”

“Story of m’ life,” Dean slurred.

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of what I do and do not like,” Castiel pushed, his words barely a whisper made into a scream in such a quiet room.

Dean remained silent for a few minutes, his face retreating to one that showed he did not like what he was thinking about. “I grew up in the sport, or at least, I’ve always liked cars.” He bagan. “Dad was a mechanic and I learned a thing or two from him growin’ up. By the time I was four I already had m’ first kart and played in the junior league nearby. Life was good for a while…” He grew quiet, but not without raising his hand to let Castiel know he was thinking.

“I was just a kid when my mom died...It was night and that day I’d been at a race so I was tired and went straight to bed without saying goodnight to her. Course I was, I was _four,_ ” Dean almost sounded angry with himself as he spoke. “… Didn’t know what was happening ‘till I smelled the smoke. By then, the main rooms had already been burning.” Dean got one leg up onto the couch to rest his arm. “I just remember my dad giving me Sammy and telling me to run outside as fast as I could. He couldn’t get to her in time. The house collapsed all around her and he barely made it out alive.

“Things weren’t the same after that, not really. Dad threw me straight into karting, and if I’m being honest I threw myself into it, too. I barely spoke outside of the track for a few months after that, but as the years got on I just found myself getting lost in driving and fixing up the karts one by one. I figured if I drove fast enough I’d be able to drive away from all the crap that’s right behind me. Clearly my little kid mind didn’t get the concept of a childhood completely.” He snickered. “Dad thought the same way, but he didn’t take to driving. He took to about a keg a night and passed out on the couch where I’d find him the next morning.

“As time wore on I started getting better and winning races, winning most of the intermediate championships. Racing became a way to pay the bills when it was clear my Dad wasn’t getting much better even after nearly 5 years since Mom died. He died of overdose when I’d just won the first of the Formula divisions. I was probably barely 18, but Sam was still in school. A family friend took us in, Bobby. He was a mechanic, too, but he knew I wanted to keep racing. I paid Bobby with what I won for giving us a roof and a place to crash even though the old man never once asked for it, and when Sam wanted to get into racing Bobby paid the entrance fee for the junior cups to start. Sam was a natural, let me tell you. The kid was blazing through the circuits like he was born on them even though he started later than most. Guess he was, in a way. It went on like that for a few years before I found myself getting the call from the men in red. Next thing I know, I’m here and my brother joined a year later.” Dean smiled, his eyes fixed on anywhere except for Castiel. “I swear, Cas, he’s gonna win it all. He’s the quickest man I’ve ever seen, and the guy’s a friggin’ sasquatch.”

Castiel remained silent, the gravity of Dean’s words sinking in.

Dean continued speaking, the beer he had been drinking long since empty and another having taken its place. “Racing… it’s my life. It’s all I know. I don’t want to stop because that means I have to deal with all the crap that’s just piled up over the years. That’s why when crap starts getting thrown our way like it has been the last few races it just messes with our heads a bit.” Dean examined the beer bottle in his hand, his other having come around to wrap itself around his folded leg. In that moment, he looked like the small child he had just described, lonely and tired from carrying the weight of this life that he’d been thrown into.

“You’re never this open, I take it,” Castiel whispered.

“Considering you’re probably the only person that knows that last part, yeah, Cas. I’m not touchy-feely usually,” Dean mumbled.

The silence that fell between them was not an uncomfortable one, rather both were contemplating their own thoughts as the world continued outside the suite’s windows.

 _Dean is in pain and it is my fault._ Castiel warred with himself. _I caused the rift between Sam and him._ His heart grew heavy. He had been getting so attached that his job was affected in reporting, but Castiel had been selfish to think something similar would not happen for Dean as well. Castiel steeled himself.

“Dean…”

“Hmph?”

“I am sorry for causing so much trouble between your brother and you. It is clear to me now that we should not have become friends.” Castiel assumed Dean would nod in agreement, that he would acknowledge the plague that he was and ask he leave, their relationship turning to a completely professional one instead of whatever it was that it currently was now.

What Castiel did not expect was for Dean’s head to whip around so fast that he heard the snap of the bones creak in protest at such a sudden moment. “C-come again?” He rubbed his neck as he responded.

Castiel blinked. “As much as I would like to remain friends with you and talk to you like we have been, it is only hurting you and your brother.”

“W-what? No, Cas. That is the exact _opposite_ of what I want, man,” Dean sounded angered by the mere notion.

“What do you want?” Castiel tilted his head.

Dean quieted down at that, his head dropping to avoid meeting Castiel’s eyes. He mumbled his words together, seemed to come to a conclusion, and then raised his head. “I don’t know what I want man. I just know I don’t want you walking out that door tonight to be the last time we get to talk...like this.”

Castiel nodded, giving Dean time to think of whatever it was that was going through the driver’s mind. He knew Dean was not done speaking.

“Guess you can probably tell I need a few in me if I ever want to get through my life’s story.” Dean attempted to crack a joke.

“Your past has given you the strength and wisdom you have today, so celebrate it. Don’t let it haunt you, Dean,” Castiel comforted. “Though I do not condone drinking during a time where you are about to race at considerably high speeds—day off or not.”

Dean managed to give a small smile at that, his eyes lifting to meet Castiel’s. “I’ll be stone cold sober by the time we race, don’t worry, dumbass.” His eyes seemed to travel elsewhere before he spoke again. “We can’t be seen together.”

“I know, Dean. We talked about this when we first met,” Castiel affirmed, somewhat put off by the reiteration. “But judging from how I have seen Gabriel interact with other drivers I think reporters and drivers can be friends if seen occasionall—”

“No, Cas.” Dean cut him off. “Look, I hate to say it but, friend or not, not everyone’s gonna get us being that way right away. Their minds will jump to somewhere else and I don’t want them thinking things that aren’t true. We’ve had enough to deal with as is.” Dean jumped over his words as he spoke, but his eyes were hardened. Even through the alcohol consumption, Dean was incredibly cognizant of the gravity of the situation.

“… I’m aware our jobs can make the situation difficult. This is not the first time this has happened.”

Dean sighed. “Our lives are what they are. I’m just saying I don’t want people accusing us for things they shouldn’t know, is all.” He sounded hesitant. There was something more Dean wished to say and yet he refused to say it. Castiel waited just in case he would, but after it was clear that Dean was through speaking, he turned to the clock. It was near 4 in the morning.

“You need to sleep through your hangover and I need to look over notes for coverage tomorrow.”

The driver turned to where Castiel had been looking at the clock next to his bed. “Shit. Four AM already?” His head swiveled back. “Yeah, guess that’s for the best but, uh… I’m pretty sure if I get up I’m gonna fall flat on my ass.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, gauging Dean’s stance. His words were no longer as minced as they were originally, but he also had gone through a fair number of bottles as evidenced by the few on the table and a choice cluster lying around the room. Castiel stood up and offered his hand. “Then let’s get you to bed and I’ll turn out the light.” He felt his heart jump at the thought of helping Dean into bed and staying there, but friends definitely do not sleep together in the same bed…

Dean took Castiel’s arm and hoisted himself up from the couch, half his bodyweight finding it’s home in the crook of Castiel’s shoulder. Together, they stumbled the few steps until Dean was near his bed, though instead of flopping down on the bed, Dean turned to wrap his arms around Castiel fully, his head burying itself into Castiel’s neck as the driver gave him a fierce hug. Castiel was momentarily caught off guard before he tentatively wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders to return the hug. Dean must still be more drunk than he had first thought.

Dean drew out the hug, the body pressed up against Castiel almost shaking. “Thanks for sticking through this, Cas.” Dean moved his head so that it no longer rested in Castiel’s neck but on his shoulder. “It really means a lot.”

Castiel almost swore Dean would be able to feel how hard his heart was pumping, the intimate engagement causing him to take in far more detail than he normally did. He could smell the alcohol first, but underneath that smell was leather and almost gunpowder or a small hint of engine fuel that was most likely the fuel from life spent in a compact Formula One car. When mixed together, it did not smell weird in the slightest. It just smelled like Dean.

When Dean finally moved to loosen his grip on the other man, Castiel found himself only inches away from very green eyes clouded by alcohol, a forest that held a secret he had yet to uncover. He was not sure just how much of this night Dean would remember despite his words, but he also couldn’t bring himself to fully look away from them. This close, Castiel could also see the small freckles that dotted Dean’s face, stretching all around and down through to where skin met the thin black shirt Dean was wearing. He could swim in Dean’s eyes easily, blissfully unaware of the world around him. They felt like they were getting closer to Castiel, almost as if Dean was leaning in…

He had not realized he had been leaning as well until Dean blinked, fully breaking apart the embrace they had remained in, his body falling until he landed sitting on the bed. “I-I’ll see you Friday or tomorrow or… you know.” He refused to meet Castiel’s eyes, his hands playing with the sheets that covered the bed. The tension in the air sparked with emotion, though what emotion Castiel could not say without knowing if Dean felt the same.

 _What a great way to start out as friends after a rough patch_ , Castiel thought. He felt the trance he had been placed under break as he nodded, his face undoubtedly red. “G-Goodnight and good luck, Dean.” He cleared his throat. “I will see you soon.” He let himself out without another word, afraid of what had just happened, or rather, what had nearly just happened.

Dean had almost kissed him, or had he almost kissed Dean? Who leaned first? _Dean was drunk, he didn’t know what he was doing,_ Castiel berated himself, his feet walking quickly and quietly so as to avoid anyone nearby of any suspicion that he had just left Dean’s room. The world was returning, the safety of the room disappearing with every step Castiel took away from the hotel.

By the time Castiel made it back to his own room without being followed, he fell onto the bed with eyes wide open, an epiphany having just happened.

This was no crush. This was no star struck moment.

He was in love with Dean, and Dean may have just seen it.

 

~

 

The day off had Castiel running around talking about drivers and teams he knew barely anything about. He had not gotten any sleep after having been to Dean’s room, his mind continually thinking about the events that had occurred and what that meant for Dean and his relationship. He would have to be more careful now. _Dean likes girls, not guys,_ he reminded himself. _Dean had never had a relationship with a man. You are not thinking straight. You are not thinking straight._

“You’re not thinking straight, Novak!” Frank’s voice bellowed from the radio and into headphones Castiel was wearing. He had zoned out again.

Friday had come and gone, Saturday speeding in quickly.

“Qualifying is about to start. Get your ass in gear!” Frank told him as the drivers were making their way to the pit lane and garages. Cameras dotted the straight next to the pit lane as the drivers came in for the day, Sam and Dean among them. Gabriel was already jabbering about the race and the stats, but Castiel could only watch from where he stood trackside next to one of the team garages. As the drivers got closer they smiled for both the cameras and the fans, faces morphed into ones of quiet consternation and celebrity elegance that came with having their lives so open for the world to see. Castiel was just in front of the Ferrari garage, and though the team still gave him concerning looks, the garages seemed in higher spirits today.

He saw Sam emerge first from the sea of cameras, his eyes hidden by the sunglasses Castiel recognized as Dean’s. When Sam saw Castiel he hesitated in step, but to any other person it would only look like he tripped on accident. Castiel only nodded at him and subtly waved his hand, his attempt to convey everything he could to tell Sam that he understood and that it was okay. Sam caught the motion and returned the nod, his shoulders rising almost as if a weight had been lifted. Maybe it had.

Dean emerged not too long after his brother had already disappeared into the garage, his smile blinding in the Monaco light amongst the cameras. He saw Castiel almost instantly, a smile exploding onto his face. To anyone else it would look as if he was just smiling for the cameras currently taking his picture. He did not turn again when he was closer to Castiel, however. They needed to remain professional in the open world, though if Castiel was honest with himself the idea had begun to bother him. He did not want a repeat to occur between Dean and his brother once more, or for more rumors to start flying. There was still Lucifer and possibly Michael to worry about, and though Adam was not racing in this race it was clear he had a vendetta against Dean. Those thoughts only served to darken Castiel’s mood.

He began walking back towards the front of pit lane when he received a message on his phone:

 

S: Hey, It’s Sam. Dean gave me your number.

S: Listen, I’m sorry about everything. I let Lucifer get to me and I should’ve given my brother the benefit of the doubt.

 _C:_ _It is alright, Sam. What matters is that you know the truth._

 

His hands hovered over the keyboard, the idea that Lucifer still knew something in the back of his mind. If he told Sam now it would affect how he raced. Lucifer still knew something more. It did not sit well with Castiel, but to trouble Sam and Dean with it now would jeopardize what he was currently trying to rebuild. He wished Sam good luck before pocketing his phone and resuming his work.

 

~

 

Because there were no set interviews yet, the drivers having asked to focus entirely on Qualifying before they would talk to the press the following day, Castiel found himself only providing feedback and commentary to Gabriel regarding the race as Qualifying began.

“And now for our man patrolling the pit lane, let’s take it down to Castiel Novak to tell us about the secrets he’s been hearing over the radio.” Gabriel kept his tone jovial as he spoke. “Cassie?”

“Yes, hello, Gabriel. We have been hearing drivers complain about the grip of their tires over the radio since the start of the weekend, and with how narrow the circuit is here it has proven to be difficult in keeping these cars on the ground.” Castiel read through his notes as he spoke. The camera was not on him, only his voice.

“I’ve been hearing a lot of drivers complain about you as well, but in the best possible ways ol’ buddy ol’ pal,” Gabriel laughed. “We’ll be in for quite the race then if that keeps up, the tire issues, I mean.”

Castiel only offered a strained laugh back into the microphone he had been using to speak. Gabriel liked to joke, but there were times he questioned if Gabriel knew more than he was letting on.

Qualifying ended with Sam grabbing the coveted pole position and, in a strange twist of fate, Balthazar managed to bump Dean out of qualifying for second place. Charlie Bradbury managed to jump over Dean as well and qualified third, Dean’s final standing being fourth. Gabriel had been chattering away until the very last possible second when the upset occurred, and the fans made sure to scream at the highest they possibly could. Monaco was a principality just next to France, after all, making this nearly a home race for Balthazar.

“So we have one boy in red, the Frenchman, and the fiery redhead from Toro Rosso for our top three positions!” Gabriel exclaimed. The top three drivers exited their cars and made their way to where Castiel had been instructed to stand for the new post-Qualifying interviews. As each took off his or her helmet, a smile was spread across their face, the biggest one belonging to Balthazar himself as the fans roared over their favorites. Charlie wrapped an arm around Sam in congratulations for the pole as the trio met up with Castiel just outside one of the chicanes on the track near the start/finish straight in front of the grandstands of fans.

He was glad that Sam had qualified first more than anything, but the back of Castiel’s mind also knew that being able to talk to Sam would help repair the damage the public saw unfold in the last time they interacted. He did not enjoy having to think that, however. Sam was just as much of a friend as Dean was to him. He spoke to Charlie first before he turned to Sam.

“And we have our pole position holder, Sam Winchester here!” Castiel made sure to play up to the crowd and speak louder as the volume of their screams rose. The expanse of the city stretched out before them as fans dotted the bushes in the mountains alongside the grandstands, a fair amount of them sporting the distinctive Ferrari red. It was intoxicating. “Now Sam,” Castiel turned to the younger Winchester. “What’s it like when you’re in the zone here in one of the most glamorous locations that Formula One visits every year?” He turned the mic over to Sam for a response.

The younger Winchester could not contain the smile on his face, half his hair plastered to his neck from the sweat of the last hour refusing to dampen his mood. “Hello, everyone!” He called in Italian, causing another wave of screams. “I’m very excited to be here and to be in a place that is a dream come true for so many drivers when they race here. You have to be one-hundred percent dialed in in a place like this because you’ll wind up in the wall if you’re not. But, most of all, the fans here are amazing and welcoming,” He moved to point out a fair number of red Ferrari flags as they waved in the wind. “This is crazy.”

Castiel let Sam soak in the energy, he himself feeding from it as well as he turned to talk to Balthazar about qualifying in the place he did.

“To qualify second here in Monaco is very much the equivalent of winning the race for me,” Balthazar answered. He waved his hand, eyes on the brim of tears. In terms of race chances, it was very possible that it would be either Sam or Balthazar that would take the entire ware itself, 1st and 2nd having been the only two positions that winners have emerged from in nearly the entire history of Monaco being on the F1 calendar.

“Don’t count me out for tomorrow!” Charlie jumped in as Balthazar ended. “I’ll give these two boys here some hell.” She smiled brightly, the competitiveness clear in her eyes.

The interviews ended soon after that. Castiel walked back to the pit lane to return his equipment, adrenaline allowing for him to make it quickly and efficiently before the fans raided the track as they left.

Frank caught him just before Castiel dropped off his equipment and gave him the rest of the day to focus. “Interviews were good, and whatever had Sam in a knot in Spain about you looks to be over now,” he commented. Castiel only nodded, afraid he might start another conspiracy if he acted different around the senior reporter. “Go sleep, if you can, but I want you bright and early tomorrow morning.” He waved his hand before he disappeared into the debriefing room for the more professional-set interviews of other races. Castiel chose to take the dismissal without argument.

When he returned to the hotel, he saw a message waiting for him.

 

**D: Saw you talked to Sammy out on the track.**

_C: He got first place. I am happy for him._

_C: And, for the record, fourth place is still a contender depending on how pit lanes becomes during the race._

**D: Well look at u resident pit lane expert ;) Consider me impressed at your F1 knowledge and lingo, oh master.**

_C: I take that back I hope Charlie gives you hell, too._

**D: Agh I’m hurt**

**D: Not**

C: :p

**D: You do emojis now? Just who are you?**

_C: Clearly, a master that knows more than you, fourth place._

**D: Yeah well you’re fourth place**

**D: … I know you’re laughing. Stop laughing.**

 

Castiel did his best to stifle his laughter. He failed.

 

_C: XD I cannot._

**D: C you tomorrow?**

_C: Yes. See you tomorrow, Dean._

 

Castiel smiled at his phone. This was normal for them, or at least a small return of what it used to be like only a few weeks ago. All normal - except for the recent revelation that Castiel had had about himself in relation to Dean. He would just have to live with this now, as hard as it was going to be, to know that the one man he had fallen for would not fall for him in return.

He wanted to go outside and explore the world he found himself in as night settled, but Castiel knew he needed to shut his eyes and at least attempt to sleep. He had been in the process of doing that when a knock came from the door.

“Sam?” Castiel ventured once he opened the door, his face half out of the frame. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Cas. Can I come in for a second?” Sam looked shifty, but there was no one else in the hallway besides him. Castiel maneuvered the door to let Sam inside. His room was by no means the same as Dean’s had been, but it still shared the spark of Mediterranean renaissance that seemed to ooze off every surface in Monaco. “I just wanted to talk to you in person about… about what happened.”

“Dean told me that you two had reconciled your differences,” Castiel supplied.

Sam smiled. “You know, not to freak you out or anything, but I could tell the exact minute you two were talking again just by how he acted around the garage.” He gauged Castiel’s reaction, one that was poorly given considering Castiel had been in the process of searching through the small hotel fridge for something to give to Sam as a drink. Castiel hit his head on the shelf that overlooked the fridge built into the desk.

He steadied himself. “Is that so?”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah. We’re okay, but I thought I should tell you my side of the story. It’s the least you deserve after the way I treated you. It was childish and I’m sorry, Cas. I was unprofessional and rude to you both on and off the track.” The younger Winchester tilted his head down. Castiel offered for him to sit in one of the two chairs that accompanied the room. This had the signs of being a lengthy conversation.

Once Sam had settled in and accepted the water Castiel had killed his head over, he began. “We don’t party the night before the race or anything, in case you’re wondering. Dean shouldn’t have gotten drunk, but he’d told me he needed to get some things off his chest, and if you know my brother, you know he doesn’t do chick flick moments,” he chuckled. Castiel laughed in kind. “But my crew had found evidence of someone having tampered with my car between qualifying and the race in Spain. The suspension was frayed enough to a point that it would have cut during the race, not before,” he paused. “Someone wanted me to quit while in the race, and that someone had to have had access to the Ferrari garages recently… I thought it was you because of how much time Dean spends with you when he tells me he’s somewhere else.” Sam took a gulp from the water bottle before he placed it on the nearby table and looked at Castiel squarely in the eye, every nook and cranny of sincerity written on his face. “I shouldn’t have jumped the shark like that, and I really truly am sorry, Cas.”

“To err is human; to forgive, divine,” Castiel raised his own water bottle in peace. “If you came to apologize, I forgive you, Sam Winchester. I am glad that your mind is clear now.”  

A moment passed before Sam huffed and raised his own glass. “Dean wasn’t kidding when he said you were into quotes.”

“They come every so often.” Castiel added, his thoughts taking him back to Dean’s room and what he learned. “Your brother has been through a lot. You as well.”

Sam nodded, sensing the change in conversation. “We look out for each other a lot just because of how we were raised, so you’ve got to understand that Dean never got that chance to be even half the kid he let me be growing up.” He paused. “His heart’s messed up after everything he’s been through, even more with Dad.”

“Your father? What do you mean?”

“It’s not my story to tell, but if my hunch is right, you probably may already know. Let’s just say Dad is the reason Dean has trust issues with who he is and doesn’t have a lot of really close friends because of that, so it’s because of how fast he trusted you that I got on your case from the get go about everything.”

The other man remained quiet, his mind dwelling on the relationship between Dean and his father. Could that moment in the room have meant something else then? Could Sam be hinting at something Castiel could only dream of being true if it meant his heart would stop beating a mile a minute every time Dean and he shared the same air? “Your line of thinking is logical, even more so considering how close you two are as brothers.”

“Yeah, so don’t hurt my brother, man,” Sam said with only a little bite in his words. It was clear he did not want to pick a fight, that much Castiel knew. Sam was only looking out for his brother, a man that only seems to grow in depth with every passing minute.

“Rest assured I have no intentions of hurting your brother,” Castiel looked away from Sam and towards the window that framed Monaco at night, the house and party lights acting as stars while they twinkled in different colors. “He is something else entirely.”

“You _are_ gone on him, huh.” Sam’s words came out like a de-facto statement, not a question.  
Castiel whipped his head back, the back of his ears turning red. “What? I-I don’t know what you mean.”

Sam laughed and shook his head. “I gotta go. Big race tomorrow.” He stood up quickly and proceeded to walk towards the door.

“Wait, Sam!” Castiel bolted to where his room door was about to open as Sam left. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t say anything, Cas! I’ll see you out there.” Sam gave Castiel a small wave before he disappeared down the hall, leaving a stupefied reporter standing numbly just outside his door.

Sam knew.

 

~

 

“And it’s lights out and away we go for the Monaco Grand Prix!” Gabriel screamed as the cars roared to life and down the start/finish straight. 78 laps were all she wrote here, and every single one promised terror and excitement. The time leading up to the race had proved that just as equally, with Castiel running to interview celebrities that were here supporting their favorite teams and finally being able to interview drivers trackside just before they had gotten into their cars to start the race, both Sam and Dean included.

“What a great start from Sam Winchester in the Ferrari––and away goes Balthazar of Angel Martini! Round and down the hill is Charlie Bradbury locking in with Dean Winchester as they turn into the first corner. It’s tight in there folks! There goes Zachariah locking up tires down by Mirabeau just as Lucifer tries to get into the top 10 for the start!”

Castiel watched the cars roll like speeding arrows, colors mixing into each other as drivers expertly handled corners and turns without speeding directly into barriers and chicanes. There was no margin for error here. The fans standing atop balconies throughout the entire circuit screamed nearly as loudly as the engines themselves. Sam maintained his lead from the very beginning and continued to pull ahead as both Dean and Charlie tried to get past Balthazar in the fight for the top four spots. As they raced lap after lap the competition only heightened, cars swerving or drivers erring and nearly costing themselves a shot at points throughout the entire track. Halfway through the race, Crowley became one such victim as the back of his car collided with Benny’s Turner Renault car. Crowley ended up sideways into the barrier just overlooking the steep drop that led to the harbor while Benny made it into the tunnel, stopping just outside of it where the turn went immediately to the left and where his car moved forward to the chicanes instead. That was enough to pull a safety car out onto the track.

“This means great business for the pit lane crew down there!” Gabriel chattered. “The safety car means no cars can overtake for positions and drivers have the chance to come in and change their tires. This could very well be the clincher for our little boy in red out there to win the Grand Prix in Sam Winchester. He has already led more than half of this race, but Balthazar has not given an inch to Sam’s big brother Dean,  currently still fighting in third. This is where pit stop strategy is important, people!” Gabriel, of course, spoke like he knew the sport. Castiel knew strategy and was well versed in it, but even he had yet to dive into the mechanics of knowing just when to tell cars to enter the pit lane.

Nevertheless, the mad dash into the pits began as entire teams came out simultaneously carrying tires or other equipment needed should one car have crashed or gotten slashed by some of the debris from Crowley or Benny’s cars. Sam came in first, his team changing all four tires on his car in just under three seconds flat. Dean’s team took 2.6 seconds, enough for him to have pulled out to grab second from Balthazar had the safety car not been in effect. He had to give up the position he had gained as a result, his voice on the radio one of annoyed acceptance.

Once the cars had been cleared in a fair number of laps, a green flag was waved and racing resumed. “Hopefully Rufus Turner, owner of Turner Renault, doesn’t tear poor Benny a new one!” Gabriel chuckled. “There’s Dean Winchester on the outside breathing down Balthazar’s neck, but the Frenchman will not give an inch in the place where he lives. This is rivalry! This is racing! This is Formula One!” Gabriel sounded like the beginning of an action adventure story, but Castiel did not mind. It was easy to get swept up in the excitement of the sport, especially in a race where so much had happened and yet there was still much competition to get through. Monaco was the coveted one to win, the home race for so many away from home.

Two other cars in the form of Harry and Arthur Ketch from the Formula Facers and Britain’s Men of Letters respectively also crashed out, one losing his gearbox and the other failing to get enough grip into his tires to let him turn effectively at such high speeds. It neared the last few laps of the race when the competition arose once more.

“We’ve got the Most Valuable Driver Award of the day going out to Balthazar here of Angel Martini. This man has somehow single handedly managed to evade any and all attempts at letting senior Ferrari driver Dean Winchester from overtaking him for points. What a drive from the Frenchman, wouldn’t you say down there, Mr. Castiel Novak?”

“I would agree with you, Gabriel. This track is difficult to pass on as is, but to keep a Ferrari from passing you at these speeds and at this height of adrenaline is an entirely different battle,” Castiel remarked honestly.

No more came of the battle, however, as the laps dwindled down to zero and Sam Winchester took home first place, Balthazar chasing him down in second and Dean having usurped both Charlie and Kevin to round out the podium in third place.  Lucifer did not even make it into the points, and judging by his tirade in the pits after having weighed in for regulations, it was clear he was not happy either. Castiel took small pride in that despite his better judgement.

As quickly as it had come, Monaco had drawn to a close, though Castiel was looking forward to the following races now that personal matters seemed like they quieted themselves. Nothing was turbulent at present, which made for all the most excitement to be returning back to North America in just a few weeks’ time.

 

~

 

**D: Dude answer your phone**

 

Dean called later that night as Castiel finished packing up. It had begun to be a routine for them again.

“Did you know it’s almost _June?_ ”

“You call me at,” Castiel squinted at his clock, “one in the morning to tell me the date?”

“Well I knew you’d be up and the parties are still in full swing everywhere. By the way, you’re not at any of them,” Dean chided. It was then that Castiel heard the faint sounds of muffled music in the background.

“Were you looking for me?” Castiel teased. “I am in my hotel, that is not unusual.”

“You suck at teasing,” Dean scoffed. “You ready to head back to familiar ground?”

“I’m not from Canada. You know that.”

“No dumbass I mean North America. Canada’s next but there are a few places there that are great tourist traps. How’s your French?”

 _“Tu es un completment null,”_ Castiel responded.

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few minutes. “Okay, autocorrect aside, I, Castiel Novak, am absolutely _not_ an idiot for using google translate, but that answers the question.”

“I assume you wish to show me something in Canada,” Castiel moved to grab a few shirts from where he had placed them before he left for the race that day, his phone now resting between his cheek and shoulder. Packing was always slow for him, either because he enjoyed the idea or because he was meticulous, Castiel wasn’t sure.

“Yeah, well, maybe. If you’re up for it. You don’t have to,” Dean’s tone changed abruptly, the music in the background now reduced to silence. He must be walking away from the party. “I just… I want to tell you something.”

“You can tell me anything, Dean, and for the record, I would love it if you showed me something in Canada,” Castiel fought back the smile that he knew was spreading across his face, his cheeks feeling hot at the mere idea. _This is not a date, why would it be?_

“Well I don’t really want to tell you it on the phone, you know? I’ll tell you next time I see you.” The _with no cameras near us_ remained unspoken, but Castiel knew it was there.

“I fly out first thing tomorrow for training over there, but you take care, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow,” Dean’s voice sounded cheery, hopeful.

“You still hate planes, don’t you?”

“Like hell I do. I’m bribing the airline attendant to just leave the booze in first class.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> Your past has given you the strength and wisdom you have today, so celebrate it. Don’t let it haunt you- Unknown 
> 
> To err is human, to forgive, divine. – Alexander Pope
> 
> Fun Facts:
> 
> Monaco is literally _the_ race to be at, and it was the one Tony Stark was at during one of the Iron Man movies, to give you an idea :)
> 
> A lot of current F1 drivers live in Monaco, which is why many consider it their home race


	7. Canada

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Charlie B. (93 points)  
> Sam W. (89 points)  
> Michael S. (69 points)  
> Lucifer M. (65 points)  
> Kevin T. (60 points)  
> Dean W. (58 points)  
> Crowley M. (57 points)  
> Balthazar R. (34 points)  
> Benny L. (26 points)  
> Gadreel P. (22 points)

They did not stop talking the entirety of the two weeks between races, Dean talking about how French everything in Montréal was while Castiel taught him key phrases that should help him find his way around in Canada. Their work schedules kept them busy in the day, but once Castiel made it over to North America they were at least in the same time zone. Frank kept Castiel busy in finding locations to film specific segments before the rest of the crew members arrived, though thankfully Castiel still had a few days before the start of the actual race weekend to enjoy Montréal and all that she offered.

“Remember that spotlight you did with Lucifer?” Frank called his attention back just before he would be left to his own devices for the 12 hours until Practice Sessions began. “Well, network liked it, even if we had to edit the questions a bit. They liked the energy, but Lucifer’s a fan favorite anyway for most.” Castiel only hummed in acknowledgement, the memory of his conversation with Lucifer returning to the forefront of his mind. “You’ll be interviewing Charlie Bradbury in Canada on Thursday. You remember that?”

“That I interview Charlie in Canada and Sam and Dean when we get to Monza next week? Yes, I remember, Frank.” Castiel parroted words Frank had already told him a few weeks ago. “With Canada being where Charlie’s partner was born I would have assumed I would be interviewing Kevin, however.”

“I don’t pick the places, kid.” Frank looked down at his notes. “But you’ve got that, the post-Qualifying interviews, and then whatever Gabriel throws at you come race day. Until then, you’ve got 12 hours to look around French land in Canada. Be useful and find me some information on old stories while you’re at it. Keep the rumor mills working.”

“Your conspiracy theories know no bounds, Frank.”

Frank narrowed his eyes. “That’s senior reporter Frank to you,” he jabbed Castiel’s shoulder, but there was no real bite in his words. Suddenly Castiel’s phone rang. “Better answer that or they’ll think you’re seeing someone else.”

Castiel moved to grab his phone and checked the caller ID.“I’ll see you tomorrow, Frank,” Castiel gulped, taking care to cover his phone in case Frank’s eyes decided to wander.

“Hello, Dean,” he answered once he was a safe distance away from the media center.

“Heya Cas. Keep walking,” Dean’s voice sounded light yet insistent. Castiel obeyed and continued walking out of the circuit area. Montréal was home to the circuit Gilles Villeneuve, a fixed motor sports circuit in Parc Jean-Drapeau. The location was already bustling with early fans, teams, and networks alike as they made their way to set up the necessary equipment to cover the race.

“Where am I going?” Castiel spoke into his phone as he neared the Biosphere that resembled a translucent version of Disney World’s Epcot Ball.

“Just keep walking. We just need to clear the circuit.” Dean’s voice sounded as if it echoed, prompting Castiel to turn his head and look behind him. Sure enough, the incognito form of one overtly tall man towered over those carrying camera equipment and merchandise, Dean’s stature and recognizable walk pegging him as his follower.

“You truly are insufferable,” Castiel laughed as he made his way out of the circuit and towards a lesser inhabited area of the park. Once it was clear they were alone, Castiel waited for Dean to join him. “Truly insufferable,” he reiterated as Dean came within hearing distance. Dean only laughed at the comment.

“You’ve got the rest of the day off, right?”

“A luxury in this business as I’m told, but yes, Dean.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m taking you somewhere.”

Castiel shook his head, a smile betraying him. “Of course you are.”

Dean grinned. “C’mon, you can just say you wanted to see the place and you’ve got nothing to do.”

“I have to review data for tomorrow’s practice sessions, as I assume you do as well.”

Dean scoffed as he guided Castiel to walk alongside him, sunglasses and black unmarked hat no longer as mysterious as they once were. “Sam and I went over ‘em this morning and the track temperatures look good for grip. We just gotta avoid the Wall of Champions and this race should be good.”

“Wall of Champions?” Castiel echoed.

Dean nodded. “It’s turn fourteen on the circuit, but basically every legend has touched that wall just because of how close it is when you’re coming out from the last turn. The trick is to just get real close.” He exemplified the maneuver with his hands, having raised them to be mere millimeters from each other. “—That way, you get the cleanest line without actually touching the wall, but everyone’s done it at least once. I don’t doubt for a second that one of us will do that in practice sessions.”

“And that is why it is called the Wall of Champions?”

“Cause every great’s touched it,” Dean reiterated. “Yours truly included last year,” he grinned. Castiel only chuckled. “But that’s our base plan: just get in, race, get out, win. What’s your day looking like tomorrow?”

“I have a spotlight interview with Charlie before the race gets underway, and then I’ll be interviewing the top 3 drivers that qualified and talking to Gabriel. Routine in a non-routine way,” Castiel commented. “Everything is temporary here, however, compared to what I saw in Europe.”

“Well ‘course,” Dean moved to turn a street as they continued walking, Castiel following behind. “There’s no motor homes or anything for us here either. They’re not just gonna lug everything across the pond just so they have to bring it all back in a week.”

“It is logical,” Castiel sighed, “but I still wonder why the schedule is set up in such a weird way to have us travel to North America and then quickly return to Italy.” He paused. “Dean, Monza is next week. The Italian Grand Prix.”

“Yeah, no pressure or nothing,” Dean confirmed. “Schedules are built by the sport and the locations. We don’t really get much say beyond that, but yeah, next week’s kind of a big deal for Ferrari.”

“I interview you and Sam next week then for your spotlight interviews.”

“That you do, my friend,” Dean winked, causing Castiel to blush. “Go easy on us. And we’re here!”

Castiel continued to conceal his blush as best as he could before he stopped to look up at the place Dean had led them to. It was an ice skating rink by the looks of it, though it did not look to be open at the moment. “You made me walk…” Castiel checked his surroundings and the time, “An hour just so we could go ice skating?”

“I made you walk to a place that’s closed down for us so you could learn how to ice skate, Mr. ‘I don’t understand skating over frozen water,’” Dean quoted what Castiel had texted him only the night before while they were discussing what they would like to see while in Montréal. Castiel had not been picky, but Dean had asked if he had been a fan of hockey, which led to the discussion about skating on ice.

Castiel surveyed the area around the building. It was just far enough away from the circuit and the cameras that there were no recognizable faces, something Dean must have obviously considered. “I am not able to say no, am I?”

“Nope,” Dean grinned mischievously before he pushed Castiel inside, the door passing by a bell to signal whoever owned the place that there was someone there. “Got a friend that lives in South Dakota who’s friends with the people that run this place. She came through and convinced Asa to let us have it for a while, ice skates and hockey pucks and all.”

“Dean, I must reiterate that I have no balance on skates, let alone understand the point of skating over frozen water.”

“Don’t be an ass. You’re in a rink. It’s different,” Dean signaled to a man behind the counter. “Hey, it’s Jody’s friend. Mind spotting us two pairs of your finest skates?”

They each put on their own pair of skates in the locker room once Jody’s friend, Asa, had made sure to lock the doors of the ice skating building and give the keys to Dean. No one would be bothering them, which meant no cameras or press or even Adam or Lucifer could get any more questionable photos.

“C’mon, I’ll get some hockey sticks, but you’ve got to test your frozen sealegs.” Dean moved to help Castiel up from where he had been sitting, the added height and the fact that he now stood on two inches of steel blades messing with his balance. He guided Castiel to the opening of the rink before stepping on, hockey sticks and a hockey puck in one hand.

Castiel had been to Rockefeller center in New York when Hannah wanted to go, but he had never dared enter the ice rink that’s there during the winter months for tourists to enjoy. Though there was no one else in the rink with them, he knew he would make a fool of himself much like he had seen countless people do whenever they fell on the ice. Dean would never let him live it down. It was that thought that made his ears grow hot at the mere idea of Dean having to help him up. “Are you sure about this?” he called to the Formula One driver already on the ice and moving to where a goalpost had been set up.

“Of course I’m sure! Don’t tell me the guy with an angel name is scared of falling!” Dean moved to near where Castiel still stood frozen to his spot just outside the white surface.

“You clearly know nothing about angels.” Castiel steeled himself and moved to grab the side of the glass barriers as one skate connected with the slippery surface of the ice. Almost instantaneously, his leg skirted away from him as the blade cut into the ground to glide. He managed to right himself and plant both skates on the ice in time, both hands clutching the side of the rink vigorously.

“You look like a little kid,” Dean laughed from where he stood towards the center of the rink.

“Don’t test me,” Castiel joked back, no bite in his words. Determination marked his features as he tentatively let one hand go from the railing surrounding the rink. It only took a few minutes before he was balanced.

“Great, you’ve found your legs. Now use them.” Dean moved towards Castiel and hesitantly placed a hand on his back. “Here,” He gently pushed the other man while Castiel attempted to maintain his balance. It took some practice, but they finally managed to get to the hockey goal that had been placed on one end of the rink without Castiel falling or taking Dean with him after what felt like hours.

On more than one occasion during that time, Castiel nearly lost his balance. Had it not been for Dean catching him before he reached the point of no return, they would have very likely already landed on the ground more than once.

“Good, now that you’re here, we can play some hockey.”

“You want me to block?” Castiel stared at the goal post. “Dean, I barely know how to skate.” He maneuvered his way in front of the goal until he grabbed onto the side, Dean’s hand no longer resting on his back for support physically, despite the weight Castiel still felt burned into his skin from the contact.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll chuck it slow. Trust me, I’m an expert.”

“Dean, you’re a driver on asphalt. How does this correlate?”

“It doesn’t,” Dean winked before he went to pick up the stick he’d dropped towards the center of the rink. “Just figured you’d be sick of the sport by now and wanted a little change of pace.”

“That doesn’t sound like something that would happen,” Castiel countered. “Though, to be fair, I am glad I am away from cameras and Frank for a little while.”

Dean nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. “Too bad, though. No one’s gonna see how I’m gonna school you in hockey.” He gave Castiel no warning before he launched the puck in Castiel’s direction. The speed was measured enough that if it did come in contact with Castiel’s knees or any bones it would not break them, but that would only be if Castiel had managed to block the puck altogether.

Instead, Castiel lost his balance and ended up back first into the goal post, the puck just above his head acting as if it mocked him for his lack of stability.

“This was a terrible idea,” Castiel groaned as the pain he knew he would feel tomorrow from the sudden impact.

The scraping of ice just near Castiel’s ear led him to see Dean crouch down beside him, worry written across his features. Green eyes darted across Castiel’s face and chest for any signs of pain. “Cas? You good?” At least he was worried.

“Pain nourishes your courage. You have to fall in order to practice being brave,” Castiel bit his lip, wincing at how his shoulders connected with the ground. “Though, I could do without pain right now.”

Dean chuckled, most of the worry ebbing away. “Guess we should take you back so you can rest for tomorrow.”

“I’m not even driving, Dean. You are the one that should be resting.”

“Yeah, well, consider it mental rest.” Dean extended his hand. “Let’s get you up, Angel.”

There was the name again, the one Dean had used months ago that had caught them both off guard. The way Dean said it now, however, felt different. He knew what he was saying…

Castiel watched Dean’s hand, his eyes traveling up to try and find a motive behind his eyes. He took the hand and attempted to hoist himself up, but it only served for him to put one skate on the ice and fall back down, this time pulling Dean with him.

Castiel hadn’t first realized Dean had fallen as well until he felt a body on top of him, his hand still grabbing onto the one Dean offered now pinned between them. When he opened his eyes for the second time, green eyes stared back almost in shocked amusement.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean whispered.

“H-hello, Dean,” Castiel replied, shocked.

It happened quickly, Castiel barely registering the fact that Dean’s lips were on his until they pushed in, a silent permission for Castiel to return the kiss. They were chaste and full, eager to continue once Castiel returned the kiss and quickly deepened it, Dean’s tongue finding its way inside to explore the new world it found itself in. Castiel had never entertained the idea of what it felt like to kiss Dean because of Dean’s sexuality, which made this experience one of a kind and unique, a memory he hoped to cast in a bottle and never forget.

The smell, the taste, the cold of his back as he laid pressed between a warm body and an ice rink in Canada. The air crackled with each second, spontaneity mixed with adrenaline, proving to be the ultimate chemical for what happened.

In that moment, it felt like Heaven.

He indulged in it for as long as he could, his free hand moving to support Dean’s head as he angled the kiss with the aim to deepen it further.

That was the spark that caused Dean to pull back roughly, his eyes revealing shock. It then came back to Castiel then…

He had kissed Dean, or rather, Dean had kissed him.

_What just happened??_

“Dean…” was all Castiel managed to say before the weight on top of him lifted and Dean bolted to the rink doors, the stick left just next to where Castiel still was on the ground. “Dean!” he called after the retreating figure, but the door slammed shut quickly, the echo mixing with Castiel’s words. Dean was gone.

 

~

 

It took Castiel half an hour to make it out of the rink, each attempt to move causing him to fall once more until he simply gave up and crawled to the exit. Once he took his skates off and returned them, he managed to find his way back to the hotel Frank had told them they would be staying at for the race weekend. His mind replayed the events of the last day in clear detail, how Dean’s hand felt in his, seeing freckles explode like stars just before the world went from sight to touch and his lips felt like they were on fire. He had kissed Dean Winchester, and it was not in a platonic way in the slightest.

He attempted calling Dean, but it only resulted in getting his voicemail. Practice sessions had the possibility to interview Dean, but like hell he would ask _Why did you kiss me?_ in front of millions of people watching live. He would need to find a time to get Dean alone again, even with the packed race weekend that they both had. They would find a way—they needed to talk about this. Castiel needed to ask why Dean kissed him, and if there was anything left of their friendship that he truly did want to keep, Castiel would have to tell him about his crush on the Formula One driver. It was now or never.

He sighed, the entire series of thoughts having taken up the rest of the night and into the next morning. Castiel only managed to sleep for a few hours, and even then he dreamt of green eyes and leather smelling skin amongst the cold air.

He was completely and utterly screwed.

The next morning, he made his way over early to the temporary hospitality units the teams had for their drivers on site, his red press pass allowing him access to any and all places behind the paddock and pit lane. Or rather, that was how he was able to maneuver around the other circuits. All except for now.

“Can’t let you see the drivers, Mr. Novak.” Billie, one of the security members near the Ferrari rooms stopped him from advancing. “No press beyond this point.” She would not budge without an explicit reason, something Castiel was not going to reveal in such a public place, especially judging by Dean’s reaction to running away from him. He doubted anyone knew, even security. Castiel had been in the process of thinking of some sort of viable answer when Frank found him, however.

“Kid, other interviews can wait! You’re due in Toro Rosso in twenty minutes!” Frank hauled Castiel away from where Billie had been standing. “What are you doing here so far away from where you’re supposed to be? Growing a newspress backbone?” His interviewing voice came instantly, causing Castiel’s guard to go up.

“I wanted to see how Canada operated compared to European races,” Castiel lied. He had learned one thing, after all: how to lie.

“Well, we can’t get into driver’s units, you know that.”

“Yes, sir.”

Frank eyed him before he shook his head. “Don’t matter. Go talk to Bradbury and get a good interview. See you back at HQ in an hour.” Frank handed him his microphone equipment before disappearing down the crowded paddock backways, mixing into the throng of people as different colors began their preparations for practice sessions.

It was when Castiel had made his way near the Toro Rosso team that he remembered Dean and Charlie were friends. The question formed in his head. He had a plan.

“Hello, Ms. Bradbury,” Castiel shook Charlie’s hand once he had made it inside the room where the spotlight interview would take place. It was the same setup as when they had done Lucifer’s interview: two chairs opposite one another, the team backdrop in the background, and lights illuminating for effect. Charlie had been sitting on her phone when Castiel walked in.

“Oh please, Charlie. I never did like the whole ‘last name as first name’ thing that Frank always did.” Charlie scoffed and smiled, her actions instantly reminding Castiel of a certain green-eyed driver. “I hear you got questions.”

“And I hear you have answers.”

“Then we’re in the right line of business,” Charlie bantered. Castiel could not help but smile at the remark.

Both the reporter and the driver sat at their respective seats and begin the interview, Castiel quickly realizing just why Charlie was the most loved out of all the drivers in all countries. Her charm was infectious and her responses witty.

“How does it feel being the only female driver currently in the season?” Castiel asked.

Charlie scoffed. “Come on here, give me some original material,” She laughed. “I get asked that every weekend, but I don’t get tired of answering it because somewhere out there is a racer just like me that can outrun the guys and keep winning the points.” Charlie waved her hand. “B-team or not, we’re still Red Bull and you best believe we’ve got our wings.”

“Yes, because Toro Rosso is Red Bull in Italian,” Castiel noted. He had read about how some called Toro Rosso the second-class team when compared to the team that owns the more common name, but in truth they are simply sister teams with twice as many chances of getting points for Red Bull.

“You hit the bullseye there.” Charlie mused. They continued talking about Charlie’s choice in the number 8 on her car, her friends back in the states, and her girlfriend as well. “You’ll have to meet her, I’m sure Gilda would love you with that angel name you’ve got goin’ on. Red Bull would, too, come to think about it,” she joked.

Castiel stalled for a second, taken by surprise at how carefree she was in the invite compared to how Dean has spoken in interviews. “Well, I would love to if she will be in Austin for the Grand Prix in the United States.”

“Oh, definitely. Us US of A-ers have so much fun in Austin that weekend.” That was the opening Castiel was looking for.

“Ah yes,” He smiled, careful to tread the line. “You must be close to the other drivers, or no?”

Charlie smirked, her eyes narrowing in on Castiel’s. “A lot of drivers are friends off the circuit, but when it’s on track it’s go time. I’m not just gonna let you pass just because you bought me a drink or we had a _Star Wars_ marathon the night before. I can throw some _axes_ on the track _.”_ She gave Castiel a knowing look.

Castiel briefly thought back to the plain ride in Australia, about how Dean had said Charlie will throw an axe at your head if you cross her. The connection was subtle, however, therefore it might have just been a coincidence.

“Take Sam and Dean, for example,” Charlie continued, clearly talking more to Castiel than for the sake of the interview. “We met while in our karting days and they’re basically the brothers I never wanted,” She snickered at a memory. “But I’m sure they don’t want me talking about them in front of the cameras.”

“Of course, not. This is about the sport,” Castiel caught her meaning. “But I think we have all that we need for now. Thank you for speaking with us, Charlie.”

“My pleasure, Cas,” She got up and punched Castiel in the arm playfully just after the camera shut off. Her face grew serious when Castiel turned to her in confusion. He was not used to contact like that except for Dean on occasion. “We need to talk without surveillance.” She gestured to a door where she had walked out of across the room.

“What is it about?” Castiel asked nonchalantly. Dean may have said Charlie was his friend, but that did not mean he was about to reveal that he himself knew Dean outside of the track should it arise some sort of suspicion. Lucifer’s words still haunted him despite everything.

“Come on, _Clueless,”_ Charlie punched him again before smiling at the crew that was leaving. “Bye everyone!” She called to those that were staying for Castiel. “Just this one has one final question he wants to ask off the record.”

It was enough to get the last few of the crew to leave before Charlie grabbed Castiel’s arm and exited the door, resulting in Castiel finding himself in one of the temporary hospitality suites in Toro Rosso, Charlie’s extra racing suit and gloves still on the small bed.

“Okay, before you go _Taken_ on me you need to know that I know, okay?” Charlie went to grab the gloves on the bed, the red and blue of the suit complementing her short red hair.

“You know…?” Castiel echoed.

“Dean told me, Cas. I _know_ know.” Charlie said pointedly. Castiel’s blood heated up alongside with the increased palpitations of his heart. “I know what happened and what’s been happening and how Dean’s so far in that he’s scared to tell you just yet. So,” she sighed, “against my better judgement and because things just lined up the way they did when he did what he did, here I am,” She bowed. “Charlie Bradbury, Queen of Moondoor actually doing a favor for my handmaiden.”

“What?” Castiel only blinked at her, confusion written across his entire face.

Charlie tilted her head, mirroring Castiel. “He wasn’t kidding when he said you do the tilt thing.” she gestured to Castiel’s angled head.

Castiel righted himself, his fear slowly ebbing the more information Charlie gave.  

“Okay, so twenty questions. Ready?” Charlie prompted for him to start.

“You… know about Dean and me.”

“Yes.”

“Dean has said you’re a very close friend.”

“Some would say sister Winchester, but yes.”

“And Dean told you… about yesterday?”

“That he kissed you, oh hell yeah,” Charlie grinned. “I’ve been telling him to just do it for _weeks.”_

For weeks… Dean has been wanting to kiss him for _weeks?_

Castiel did not realize he was no longer speaking until Charlie snapped her fingers. “Okay, so my turn.”

“O-okay.”

“You’re new, and we’re talking new to everything in this sport and this world.” She spoke the words as statements rather than questions just like Castiel had.

“Yes…”

“You met Dean on a plane and he got the hots for you then and there so I’m willing to bet you weren’t far off.”

Castiel blinked. “Possibly? I do not know, actually,” he confessed, his cheeks growing red. He had never voiced his words in this way before, not even to Hannah.  “He gave me his headphones—”

“Which I noticed you still use, by the way, so first race or close to it. Next question: He kissed you in the ice rink and then ran away freaked out.”

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” Castiel hung his head. “He left me on the ice and hasn’t talked to me at all since.”

“And he won’t, just so you know, but not because of the reason you think,” Charlie spoke calmly, her elbow coming to rest on Castiel’s shoulder. “He’s probably more scared about this than I’ve ever seen him.”

“But why?”

Charlie straightened up, her face growing serious. “Which brings us to the reason I asked you here.” She twiddled her fingers absently. “You see, he’s bisexual, only the world doesn’t really know because he has it in his head that they’ll ostracize him.”

Castiel stared at Charlie, his brain digesting the information. Dean was not just into girls, which meant…

“Why would he feel that way, about the world not accepting him?”

“That, my friend, is something only he’ll be able to tell you, but I’m here as a friend to the both of you in saying to just go for it. He’s only ever been open to, like, three slash four people in his life and he’s scared about what that might do to Sam or to Ferrari. If you ask me, they won’t care because Dean’s still a kickass driver, but something happened to him way back when that caused this.” She quieted down. “Hopefully you’ll be able to show him that living your life the way you want to is worth fighting for.”

“Charlie, I interview him in Italy next week. What will happen?”

“You talk to him like you’ve two been talking on air for the last couple of months, duh.” Charlie spoke like it was obvious. “I mean, you’ve already managed to hide it just a little so that most people won’t notice how you two just can’t stop looking at each other. If you do something different now people will notice more.”

“Most people?”

“Is this how you always ask questions? Because let me tell you I don’t know if it’s quality TV,” Charlie fastened her shoes and grabbed her helmet. “Look, Dean doesn’t shut up about you whenever we get time off and Sam’s said more than once that he’s been wrong about you. But if you do anything to Dean you will answer to me, you got it, bestie?” Charlie’s eyes were bright, but it was clear she was protective of the Winchesters. It was easy to see why Dean thought of her as a badass and a loyal friend. “So let me ask you this: after everything I’ve just told you, do you like Dean?”

“Yes,” Castiel spoke before his mind allowed him to even think. His heart jumped at the thought of how quickly that happened when before such an occurrence would only happen in a movie and never to him. “Yes, I do,” he tried again, “and if it means waiting for him to figure this out for now then I will wait. But I do need to talk to him, Charlie.”

Charlie had brightened even further at Castiel’s first answer. “Well, can’t promise that he’ll come around to talking soon, but I promise you he’s not mad at you or anything. He’s just, well, when Dean finds something he’s scared of he usually bottles it down or tries to not see it for a while until he can face it, usually when Sam does something to make him.” She patted Castiel’s shoulder. “Give him time if you really do like him. He’s crazy about you, too.”

Charlie guided Castiel back out of the room and towards the exit that would lead him back to the paddock without being seen, she herself having disappeared to prepare for the practice sessions that would kick off the race weekend.

He was only left to his thoughts as the weekend progressed, Practice Sessions 1 and 2 coming and going quickly as the temperature reached the beautiful weather of around 70 degrees Fahrenheit. During the time Gabriel and Frank did not need him, he was lost in thought.

He had travelled over 16 thousand miles to Canada at this point, his airline mile tracker continually racking up savings, but in those 16 thousand miles not once did he think that it would include his heart flying twice the distance.

Dean had kissed him. He had done it knowingly and fervently, and Castiel had welcomed it with open arms.

There was a shot, and Castiel decided that he would do everything in his power to try for it. If it meant giving Dean time, then he would give Dean ten years’ worth of time. _Time has a wonderful way of showing what really matters._

However, time is very slow for those who wait; Very fast for those who are scared. Very long for those who lament. Very short for those who celebrate. But for those who love, time is eternal.

 

_C: It’s okay. I will be here when you are ready._

 

That was all he texted Dean that night, because time is what Dean inadvertently asked.

 

~

 

Qualifying came and went, the track behaving extremely well with many drivers praising how well their cars were reacting to the turns and the corners of the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve. Benny took pole position with Dean in second and Kevin in third after a remarkable lap. With how the network enjoyed Castiel’s race-side qualifying interviews, the tradition continued to Canada, which meant Castiel would be speaking to Dean for the first time since they had kissed. He thought it would go about as well as their other interviews had gone, only when Castiel turned to talk to the man that had gotten front row in second position, he saw that the senior Winchester was nowhere to be found. Even Kevin did not know what to say, but he answered Castiel’s questions and had waved to the home crowd. It was not until afterward that Castiel caught the Ferrari garage eyeing him once more, this time with more narrowed eyes. Time or not, something was off. Dean still hadn’t answered him, Sam equally as silent as his brother. When race day came, Dean would not even meet Castiel’s eyes. It felt like a pit in the bottom of Castiel’s stomach, something even Frank could see.

“Something happen between you and the Winchesters again?”

“N-no, Frank,” Castiel avoided the senior journalist’s eyes. “I think they are just getting mentally prepared.”

“Hmph, my twenty-five years of this business tells me you’re lying,” Frank tapped Castiel’s headphones. “But we’ve got a race to cover now. That’s a story for another time.” He made sure to look Castiel in the eye. Castiel only nodded before leaving to where he could see the start of the race.

“We are just sixty miles north of the US border in the most European city in North America, Montréal, today for a beautiful Canadian Grand Prix!” Gabriel sounded even more hyped up on sugar than usual as his voice carried through the radio waves. “It is Round Seven of the Formula One season and with you folks watching at home is Gabriel here, and our man on the ground down in pit lane is our very own Castiel Novak. Let’s check in with him now. _Come ça va, Cassiel?”_

“Hello, Gabriel, and welcome everyone to the broadcast of the Canadian Grand Prix.” Castiel spoke into the camera Kelvin carried. “We’re just about to start here, but the talk of the weekend has been the Frenchmen Benny Lafitte usurping Dean Winchester for the pole position that he had here this time last year. The track temperature is currently in a good spot for tire grip, but the wind has been picking up. We shall see how it affects the speed these drivers will be going at, especially when the cool air mixes with the gusts that have arisen at times, Gabriel?” He had gotten used to speaking in short spurts before handing it back, Gabriel enjoying speaking more than Castiel did. The drivers were already in their grid spots for the start of the race.

“Short and sweet, Castiel! And just in time for lights out in just a few seconds.”

The screen turned to the start/finish straight as the cars lined up, engines hot and ready. The red lights dwindled down one by one, red circles appearing in light until they all shut off at once.

It was go time.

“And it’s lights out as Benny gets a slow start, Dean Winchester taking full advantage just as his little brother manages to get past the Toro Rosso of Kevin Tran to take 3rd place! And we’ve got some lockups towards the middle of the pack as Lucifer and Michael easily jump over Raphael and Samandriel to begin their ascent into the points paying positions. Red Bull got a dynamic start, but up in the front we have Dean Winchester now leading this race early on with Benny and Sam breathing down his neck as they turn into the first set of corners! Dean is in clean air so let’s see how he uses it!”

70 laps of adrenaline and action, each one sporting a moment to remember as Castiel watched and occasionally commentated on. He had been talking to Gabriel about Michael’s sudden engine failure when Ed Zeddmore ended up clipping the Wall of Champions enough to spin out and call for a safety car, the cars that had gotten respectable leads now seeing them shrink as the safety car collected them across the track. Once they had craned Ed’s car out of the track and cleared the debris a few laps later, Dean had lost his spot to Kevin after clipping that very same wall and damaging a portion of his wing in the process. Castiel silently smiled that Dean could now add his name to the list of champions that had touched that wall even if he himself only barely grasped the monumental cause of that. Dean was still racing and had not crashed, after all. He was truly talented in this life, the best of the best alongside his brother. It was clear Dean loved to drive, even if the reasons why did not start under the best circumstances. He was a damaged soul that was on its way to recovery, and though Castiel only just met him he vowed to help piece that soul back together if he was allowed.

Kevin ended up winning at his home race, fans roaring as the checkered flag waved. He found himself sandwiched between Dean and Sam on the podium, but all three drivers were still ecstatic to for the Toro Rosso driver. Castiel wondered if they were friends as well like Dean and Charlie were. It would make sense given how Charlie and Kevin were on the same team. How odd to think that Toro Rosso was filled with friends whereas Red Bull carried enemies behind the dark wings Lucifer and Michael sported.

A shiver passed through Castiel that night at the thought. He was not sure why, but he felt that something was going to happen soon.

Next was Monza in Italy, better known as the Italian Grand Prix and the home for Ferrari. It would be a sea of that prancing horse, seeing the famous manufacturing headquarters of Maranello where the spotlight interview would take place, and of course the race itself.

But most of all, it would mean Dean would have to talk to Castiel whether he wanted to or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> Time has a wonderful way of showing you what really matters – Unknown 
> 
> Time is very slow for those who wait. Very fast for those who are scared. Very long for those who lament. Very short for those who celebrate. But for those who love, time is eternal. – William Shakespeare 
> 
> Fun Facts:
> 
> Apart from the Canadian Grand Prix, this is the weekend where constructors will build rafts using anything they've brought with them to race each other in what is referred to as The Raft Races. It's gotten to be such a staple that some of the teams actually started having boat motors shipped out for the sole purpose of building these boats for bragging rights. Here's a video of [2017 Raft Race](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5NK3DRezrpQ)


	8. Italy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Sam W. (104 points)  
> Charlie B. (103 points)  
> Kevin T. (85 points)  
> Dean W. (76 points)  
> Michael S. (69 points)  
> Lucifer M. (66 points)  
> Crowley M. (61 points)  
> Benny L. (38 points)  
> Balthazar R. (34 points)  
> Gadreel P. (30 points)

“Though this race usually happens in September, it has been bumped up to what feels like just the right time. Just outside of Milan here in Italy lies Monza, the fastest track on the Formula One calendar and the home race for our Ferrari men in red. Gabriel Angeles here with Castiel Novak in the pits to welcome you to the start of one of the most fantastic, jam-packed weekends of all,” The senior commentator happily chirped away as he spoke, leaving Castiel with no choice but to listen in as he helped his crew set up for the Ferrari Spotlight Interview.

It was already the end of the second practice session on the first day and Dean was still avoiding him like the plague. Despite the tension, however, the excitement was palpable as a sea of red spread throughout the entire circuit. Monza was arguably the oldest track and held a special place in Formula One history apart from the fact that the biggest team in the sport called Italy home.

“I don’t know how this is going to work,” Kelvin spoke. He usually kept to himself more often than not. “With how everyone’s been acting around you and the rumors, I half expect him to not even turn up.”

“Why would they not turn up? This is still a network interview that Sam and D—the drivers agreed to,” Castiel caught himself. “And it is in the home race for their team and division where the attention will be placed the most on them.”

Kelvin looked at Castiel in the eye as he finished setting up his camera and angling it to the view he eyed in the viewfinder. “Frank didn’t tell you? Senior driver asked for his interview to be pushed back, says we’ll get better coverage from him in the States.”

“What?” Castiel stopped shuffling through his notes. He had prepared a few questions for network interview purposes, but not anything beyond the standard set and _How are you Dean?_ in his head.

“Yeah. Order came through last night. And we’re not doing set interviews or exterior shots in Maranello. Thought you knew.” Kelvin returned to his silent air after that, but not without a smirk on his face. “Guess someone’s not too sure about you. Either that or Senior got cold feet.”

“That will be enough, Kelvin,” Castiel cut in. “We will do our jobs and be out of here faster than planned, but I would kindly appreciate you not questioning my orders or motives.” Castiel had only ever been courteous to Kelvin before all of this, but hearing him insinuate there was more to a story he did not know caused something to crack in him.

Kelvin did not get time to rebuke the comment, however, for in that moment Sam Winchester walked into the room, driving suit still on from the previous practice sessions, sessions he himself had done well in.

“Castiel,” Sam spoke politely and professionally, his stature one of a man on business and not of a friend Castiel had begun to see him as. The reporter nodded in acknowledgement.

“Hello, Sam. Please, sit down.”

“The team has asked that our dual interview be split, but I can’t give you more information beyond that.” Sam accepted the mic from Kelvin and began to put it on. “Just wanted to get that out there before you asked about it.” He gave Castiel a knowing look. He knew Castiel would not have asked deliberately or brashly regardless, but it saved Castiel’s breath to having to form words that could work around the sudden layers of secrecy he found himself in. He already knew half the answers he was about to ask Sam, but instead of acknowledging that, Castiel read in between Sam’s words.

“That is understandable. I am sure the network is taking care of it.” Castiel sat down opposite Sam in preparation for the interview. Once Kelvin had signaled he was recording, Castiel began.

“We are here today with Sam Winchester, junior driver on _Scuderia_ Ferrari; how are you today, Sam?”

“Well, getting in the zone for this weekend, thanks.”

“Yes, this weekend. This is a massive race for Ferrari and for all of the fans waiting outside those doors. How does it feel to be a part of a movement of passion like that which thrives at Monza?”

Sam laughed. “The _tifosi_ are passionate, that’s for sure. That’s what they call themselves here, but the feeling is unlike anything I’ve ever been a part of. It’s family personified beyond just the idea. Dean and I both feel like we’re home wherever we see that Prancing Horse, so it means a lot to be able to drive our cars in a place where people are just as excited as we are.” Sam visibly relaxed the more they spoke, going on about history of the track and of how Ferrari is synonymous with Formula One and vice versa. Castiel quickly realized Sam’s love of racing extended far beyond that. The man studied the history of the sport around them far more than Castiel ever had, a true man of letters and books in a world filled with new age speed and trajectory. Sam talked about why he chose the number 2 and why he specifically wanted to break the stereotype of being second. He talked about Maranello and training on the Fiorano circuit during testing season. Dean loves the sport because of the racing element, but Sam loved it because of the history and research associated with an international championship. _How different you two are and I never saw the distinction until now,_ he thought.

“Well, if by different you mean I’m the quicker car, than yes,” Sam cautiously laughed. It was then that Castiel realized he’d spoken aloud.

“R-right, I’m sure,” he recovered. “Well, speed will most certainly play a factor in this Grand Prix.”

“Yeah, you could say that. Our cars can go as fast as 200—220 miles an hour here on average. I think the slowest I ever go here is about a hundred on the chicanes.”

“Which will prove to be good for overtaking, correct?”

“It’s easy to overtake here if you get in the slipstream. There’s no elevation change so that’s where the focus goes.” Sam had been about to raise his hands to explain like he normally would when he paused, debated something in his head, and then lowered his arms. “Of course, that does not mean it will be easy.” Castiel briefly wondered if Sam also forgot the setting they were in.

“Well, I wish you luck in this race and we will see each other again at the end,” he ended, Castiel hearing the distinct click of the camera shutting off. He turned off his mic before he saw that Sam was doing the same.

“Sam—”

“Not here,” Sam interjected. “Finish with your crew and stop by the hotel tonight.” Suddenly, the door out of the interview room opened to reveal Billie, Dean’s bodyguard.

“We are here to see you out, Mr. Winchester.” Her eyes were laser focused on Castiel.

“I’m coming.” Sam gave Castiel one last look before he was out the door.

Castiel stood silent. There was something going on behind closed doors again, something that once again involved him with the team.

 

~

 

The Ferrari drivers would not be in a hotel in Italy, therefore Castiel was not surprised to find Sam in a house all to himself later that night, the area around hidden and private away from paparazzi or media that wanted to get a scoop they would twist around.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam patted Castiel and ushered him inside. “Dean’s not here.”

“Why would you assume—?”

“Oh come on, like you weren’t gonna ask?”

Castiel closed his mouth. Sam had a point. “Sam, what is going on? I understand that Dean needs space, but the team is acting strangely toward me again and I have neither seen nor heard from him since Canada.”

“Charlie said she told you about Dean.”

“About his sexuality? Yes, she did, but is that what this is about?” Castiel paused. “Did the team find out?” Ferrari would not fire him over something as trivial as Dean’s bisexuality, would they?

“No, no one knows beyond you, me, Charlie, and our family back home. It’s not that, really, Cas,” Sam’s voice softened.

Castiel let out a breath. “Then, tell me, Sam. Is it about what happened in Canada?”

Sam’s eyes travelled around to anywhere but the other man in front of him. “It’s partially that, or at least, I think he still doesn’t believe he did that, but,” Sam breathed, “Adam’s been spreading rumors. About you and him.”

“But you just said the team didn’t kn—”

“No, man, not like that. They won’t get mad about who Dean is, it’s about the idea that you are getting trade secrets from Dean and that it’ll leak to the other teams.”

“They think I’m a spy?”

“Well, yeah, Cas. Of course they do,” Sam exhaled. “You haven’t been in this world like we have. There are just about 300 different ways to think something is like one thing when it’s actually another. The first thing they think about isn’t the person, but the job.”

“Sam, I would never divulge anything, even if Dean did tell me any secrets.”

“I know, and believe me after everything we’ve had I’m inclined to believe your word to say the least. Dean, too. He believes in you like there’s no tomorrow. That’s why he’s fighting.” When Castiel remained silent Sam continued. “He’s trying to get them to see the truth, but he’s still got it in his head that if he comes out now he’ll lose his job in the process. Dean just doesn’t want them to come after you.”

Castiel took the information as best he could, his head hurting. The last thing he wanted was to be known as the person that made Dean come out in duress like it was some excuse, because it’s not. “That is why Billie glared at me.”

“Yeah, for the most part. She doesn’t really like you.”

“Noted.”

“But that’s why Dean hasn’t been allowed to speak to you. They haven’t taken his phone or anything, but they’re monitoring everything.”

“I have eyes on me too, Sam. I understand.” And it was true. Lucifer, Adam, and Michael had been giving him looks whenever he left the circuit or interviewed any of them for a race. He felt like a bird in a cage. The snakes were staring at helpless prey.

“Just let it die down until eyes are off us for a bit. Monza is kind of like we've got an even bigger red target on our backs, you know? Everyone’s watching.” Sam patted Castiel on the back. “Then you two can talk and really just get this out.”

“I hate that this is affecting him, Sam. You as well.” Castiel looked down towards the chair sitting on the very red Ferrari rug. Everything about the room screamed Ferrari. It was almost overwhelming in that moment. “This must be dangerous just meeting with me now. You could lose your job.”

“They’re not as worried about me, and I know a thing or two about keeping a secret. Don’t sweat it. It’s just Dean’s kind of blinded by you.”

Castiel felt his ears turn red. “I suppose I am as well, given by my speaking out of turn in the interview. I nearly said something I shouldn’t have.”

“Just keep your chin up. After Italy, this kicks off the European leg and we’ll be let loose for a bit in between races even if it’s just hot on us right now. The rumors will die down and we can get back to focusing on racing. Our next flyaway won’t be until after the summer break.” Sam spoke in the same tone of voice he had in the interview at the last remark, brain filled with research and knowledge.

“That seems so far away now. And yet, it feels like I have been here for much too long.”

“Welcome to F1.”

They remained silent for a few seconds after, each digesting his own thoughts. It was not long before Castiel spoke. “Can you tell him something for me?”

“You can text him. I know he still reads your messages even if he’s too scared to respond, but sure, anything. So long as I won’t be scarred,” Sam joked.

“…Tell him I miss him.”

“…Yeah, of course, Cas. And for the record, he misses you, too.”

Castiel left the house with a troubled mind and an even heavier heart.  

_He misses you, too…_

 

_~_

 

It was euphoric.

The stands became a sea of red that moved and responded to the cars on the track throughout the entire race weekend. The fastest race on the calendar did not disappoint, either, cars of all teams managing to get up towards nearly 350 kph (220 mph) on the straighter parts of the circuit, breaking with down forces upwards of 5 Gs or more. Any other normal person would pass out at those kinds of speeds and force happening multiple times, but not the drivers. Castiel was in awe at their talents, but most of all that none of the drivers got themselves killed.

Qualifying had been no small feat, but in a track where overtaking would be easy due to the straights it was the race that would make the biggest difference. That did not stop the drivers in the slightest from fighting out over first place, the home Ferrari team not making it to pole position but instead 3rd and 4th, equating to locking out the second row of the starting grid. Crowley had managed to grab pole position from Dean at the last possible second, Lucifer also jumping over him in the process. As a result, a Mercedes and a Red Bull were standing in the way of one of the most coveted Ferrari titles. All this Castiel learned from Gabriel.

When the time for the race came, all eyes were on Sam and Dean. It was the home race for Ferrari after all, and though they had not managed to get 1st and 2nd in qualifying to lock at the front row, they still were in contention to win the race.

The start was tense; even Castiel could feel how the stadium rose and fell with the Winchesters as they drove. Yes, there were other fans of other teams, but it was clear who the fans’ favorite was to win. With every turn and overtake, the stands’ voices grew in anticipation. This was a 53-lap race with one of the most iconic corners: The Parabolica.

“And there goes Sam Winchester into the famous Parabolica of where the old race track meets the current one! He’s currently holding back one very angry Crowley of Mercedes while Dean Winchester fights with Lucifer just behind. This could go any way, folks! Though I think the fans want it to go one specific way!” Gabriel screamed into the microphone that fed into the live stream. All Castiel could do was watch as the story unfolded before his eyes.

They were already halfway through the race, pit stops also playing into the strategy of the game, but that did not stop the competition. Thankfully, Adam was not participating in this race to give Sam and Dean even more of a headache, but that did not stop Lucifer blocking out every attempt Dean had in overtaking the other man. Dean’s frustrations reflected into the team radio that often would be played live. Cursing was not uncommon.

Castiel looked down briefly to check the time and telemetry that he was being fed in case he needed to go on air when he heard the crowd deafen even the noise of the Formula One cars. Dean had passed Lucifer at the end of the Parabolica, having gone into Lucifer’s slipstream and beat the downforce to come out on top.

“And now if the senior Ferrari car could just get past Crowley, this will be a race for the history books!” Gabriel clearly fed off the audience, something Castiel had grown accustomed to listening to whenever they were on races. What he hadn’t expected was for him to feel the same when he spoke on camera or over radio transmissions.

Dean managed to inch closer to Crowley in the last five laps of the race, even after yellow flag warnings signaling debris or a crashed car came online after Mick Davies and Ed Zeddmore crashed out, the collision puncturing Ed’s teammate Harry’s car in the process. Despite the yellow caution flag, however, a safety car did not come out, but it allowed for Dean to fully catch up and overtake Crowley as soon as the flag was lifted. Dean’s radio played over the live feed when he overtook.

 

DEAN: C’mon baby let’s bring it home!

TEAM: Watch the car, Dean. Don’t bring her home in a wreck with your brother.

DEAN: Yeah, yeah, I got it.

 

Castiel fought back a smile.

Sam and Dean were now in the lead of the race in 1st and 2nd respectively, but not before attempting to disband from the line of cars that followed them from behind in just the last lap. Their interchanging radios played over the live feed more than the others at that point.

 

DEAN: Can we race each other? Not many chances I get to beat my little brother.

TEAM: Don’t crash the cars please.

DEAN: So is that a yes?

 

SAM: I’m assuming Dean’s asking to race me.

TEAM: That he is, Sam.

SAM: Tell him to bring it.

TEAM: Don’t crash the cars please.

SAM: Yes, sir.

 

TEAM: Okay, Dean. You are clear to race.

DEAN: ‘BOUT TIME

 

The change in the two Ferrari cars was almost instantaneous.

“And now that team orders are no longer in effect to round up what a wonderful weekend for Ferrari, let’s see if these two heavy hitters have got what it takes to race each other! Are you as excited about this as I am, our man on the ground Castiel?”

“Y-yes, I am, Gabriel. It should prove entertaining,” this was Castiel’s generic response when he was not entirely sure what had just happened. _Team orders?_ He made a note to ask Dean—

He made a note to ask Dean a lot of things apart from that, actually.

Regardless, it was clear Sam and Dean began treating each other as rivals of separate teams instead of teammates with a constructor. Dean was breathing down Sam’s neck by the time they turned into the Parabolica, the final turn on the track.

“And it looks like it’s gonna be close here, folks, but Dean has DRS on his side and is not afraid to use it on his baby brother. This is a race for points for the constructor no doubt, but this part right here is about the championship, the different between 25 and 18 points and who gets that number in the end. Both cars have now turned into the famous Parabolica and its expansive turn and it’s clear Dean’s got his eyes set for first pla—and he’s done it! Sam Winchester did not give an inch until he could hold off no longer. Oh man, it is very likely Dean will not let his little brother live this down any time soon, for it is now Dean Winchester, Senior Ferrari driver, taking the checkered flag of the Italian Grand Prix here at Monza, his teammate and brother Sam taking 2nd place for a stunning 1-2 finish at Ferrari’s home race!”

Castiel could barely hear Gabriel speak at the last few phrases, the screams and whoops of the fans having overshadowed even the sound of the engines of the cars themselves. Frank had told him to wear additional earplugs on top of his headphones, but even that failed to drown out the sounds echoing off the stands and the track, an earthquake in audio.

The camera feed on the monitors switched between Dean and Sam’s cars making their way back to the pit lane to the Ferrari garage as everyone embraced and smiled at the win. Dean’s radio came on one last time.

 

TEAM: First place there, Dean. You got first place. Fantastic drive.

DEAN: YEAH THAT’S HOW YOU DO IT!

DEAN: Great drive everyone, thank you all so much.

 

By the time the drivers made it back to the pit lane where the podium overlooked the race track, the entire track was flooded with fans who had jumped the barriers. There was not an inch of track to be seen, a sea of red having overtaken it entirely. The podium was insane with all of the fans crowding around as the top three drivers made their way to weigh themselves against their cars for regulation. Dean, Sam, and Crowley emerged at the podium to stand atop their respective placement not too long after: Dean in 1st, Sam in 2nd, and Crowley rounding out the podium in 3rd.

At every race, the national anthem of the driver and constructor that wins that race is played to honor the win, therefore in Dean’s case (Sam’s as well), the American National Anthem played followed by the Italian. Though Sam and Dean proudly listened to their own anthem, it was the Italian Anthem that took the house in the very country it was being played in.

Even Sam and Dean knew the words and chanted along with the Italian fans and the Ferrari team. It was euphoric, but what Castiel did not expect to happen was a giant red flag of the famous Ferrari prancing horse overtake the track at the bottom where fans were pulling it over their heads so the drivers could see it while they were talking to the interviewer.

“The car felt great and I was able to race—Oh my God,” Dean had caught sight of it first, Sam not far behind as the entire flag stretched out fully to reveal the emblem held up by hundreds of fans. Castiel may not be a driver, but he could tell the moment was more special to the two men in red up in the podium, especially once the champagne was introduced.

After every race, the drivers were given a champagne bottle to spray in celebration and drink from as a celebratory end to the weekend, the exception being in Bahrain where the drink was nonalcoholic sparkling apple cider instead of champagne. Regardless, the champagne usually ended up on the drivers and the fans below instead of in their stomachs, this case being no different as Sam and Dean instantly went to the base of the podium to rain the champagne down on those that stood below. The flag rippled with the excitement, Castiel seeing how Sam and Dean alike sported equally giant smiles on their faces. It looked like five years had been erased from Dean’s face, even from Castiel’s point of view behind glass doors overlooking the entire experience.

Their faces were indescribable. They’d won in the best possible circumstances; the only other race that could possibly compare to this would most likely be the race in Austin in the United States in a couple of months, but Castiel was not thinking about that at that moment.

Instead he was watching those green eyes come ablaze once more, alive and excited instead of clouded and concerned, no longer dimmed as they’d been since the last time they’d spoken. When Dean made it down from the podium following the interviews, Castiel was on the side in the back away from the network cameras of his crew. He did not wish to spoil Dean’s moment if Dean still needed space, but that did not stop green eyes from locking with blue. Dean gave him a genuine smile when he passed the reporter, one Castiel had only ever seen away from the spotlight, his eyes conveying as much as he could. Castiel felt his ears turn pink under Dean’s gaze, but he only nodded in return. Now of all times was not the time to ask him or talk to him. Even the members and pit crew of Ferrari were not paying as close attention to Castiel as they had been the entire weekend. Speculation took a backseat to celebration.

Parties raged well into the night, Frank making Castiel attend a few that the network had put up to celebrate the drivers. Monza was a beautiful city, Milan not too far away.

“So, kid, what are you gonna do? I’m flying, but higher ups say you can go whichever way.” Frank spoke up after they had left the party and headed back to their hotels to pack up.

“I’m sorry?” Castiel did not understand. “I am not sure I understand.”

Frank gave him his _of course you should understand look_ that Castiel had seen less and less of lately with the more things Castiel learned about the sport. “I’m saying we’ve got our Euro block coming up. Austria, UK, Hungary, and Germany before summer break. So you got two options: fly or drive.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, kid. Most reporters by this leg are sick of flying, but I’m not one to drive so I stick with it. You can do what you want so long as you’re at race locations when we need ya.”

Castiel thought for a moment, about how much he could see of Europe while driving. He never drove in New York because traffic was a literal nightmare, but he did remember enjoying late night drives across quiet roads. Dean had said to take advantage of sightseeing…

“I think I will drive, if that is possible.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll let the powers that be know. I’m flying place to place.” That had been the end of the night with Frank, Castiel returning to his room not too long after. He would have to go to the airport with Frank regardless in order to rent out his car there first thing next morning.

But where to go? He would need a map, especially a road map with signal being spotty...

Castiel was in the process of finishing up his packing when he phone rang. It was only one message.

 

**D: I’ll explain everything**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts:
> 
> Italy is Ferrari turf, through and through, and their [podium and champagne ceremonies are intense](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=31CuA_qNl3w)


	9. Austria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Sam W. (122 points)  
> Charlie B. (111 points)  
> Dean W. (101 points)  
> Kevin T. (95 points)  
> Lucifer M. (78 points)  
> Crowley M. (76 points)  
> Michael S. (71 points)  
> Balthazar R. (40 points)  
> Benny L. (38 points)  
> Gadreel P. (31 points)

**D: Are you there yet?**

_C: Yes, Dean. I’m at the airport. Frank has not left for his flight._

**D: Can you get out?**

_C: I have to go to the rental car company._

**D: OK but dont go straight there. Come outside**

_C: But I need a car, Dean_

**D: Just come outside please**

 

Castiel stared at his phone in confusion. The day following the Italian Grand Prix had Frank taking a flight to Austria almost immediately, meaning Castiel had to join him at the airport in order to go to the car rental service and get a car. Dean had said no more last night until he had asked where Castiel was going this morning.

“Have a safe flight, Frank, I am going to find the rental car area outside.” He spoke without looking away from his phone, bidding his goodbye to his camera crew and the senior reporter before Frank could get another word in on about how Castiel needed to be vigilant on the roads in Europe.

The small airport had the bare necessities in way of locations, not many people walking or driving in as a result.

 

_C: I am outside._

**D: Great. Look up**

 

He looked up from his phone to find a row of cars that were dropping off journalists and other equipment, an everyday occurrence. Castiel narrowed his eyes, his phone beeping once more.

 

**D: Remind me to never play I spy with you**

**D: Left, all the way in the back by the signs**

 

Castiel followed the directions until his eyes found themselves landing on a man standing outside an impressively maintained black car, though Castiel was not sure it was one resembling anything he had ever seen on the streets in the United States. This one looked more European.

The very distinctive form of Dean Winchester himself waved back at him, hat and sunglasses hiding him from those that were not looking closely enough. Castiel felt his heart race when his gaze fell on Dean. Drivers still fly from place to place with their teams, Frank had told him.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel asked when he’d made his way to where Dean was parked on the corner by the signs signaling the airport’s location.

“Heard you were driving, so I figured you’d want someone to keep you company,” Dean explained nonchalantly, though it was clear he was as every bit as nervous as Castiel was inside. “So, uh, if you want to, I mean. We could drive together and I could show you around places. You know, extend that 20%. You know I don’t like flying anyways.”

Castiel stayed silent, unsure of how to approach an answer. “Dean—“

“Just, please say yes for right now? Okay?” Dean pleaded. Even behind sunglasses Castiel could tell Dean’s eyes were shifting. He only nodded and placed his items in the back of the black car Dean had been resting on.

The inside of the car was the distinctive red Ferrari was known for, though the car itself did not have the prancing horse. This was definitely a European car, though why Castiel thought it was another car he was not sure. Dean opened the driver’s side door and made his way inside, though he said nothing once he turned the car on. A screen turned on then, the words “Alfa Romeo” placed in the center.

“I assume this is an Alfa Romeo car.”

“You know cars?”

“No.”

Dean laughed, his shoulders relaxing. “Well, gotta drive the company cars while I’m in Europe, you know? Ferrari manufactures Alfa Romeo, but let me tell you I’ve got a true American beauty at home.”

“You do?”

“Yup, 1967 Chevy Impala. You wanna talk about a car, talk about her, but this one here is pretty nice, too.” Dean patted the steering wheel. “Drives like a champ.”

Castiel chuckled. “I’m sure you like to drive fast.”

“Really, what gave that away?” Dean looked at Castiel for the first time then, his sunglasses having come off when he entered the car. Castiel could see the freckles dotting his nose clearly as his eyes fixed on Castiel. Dean looked away quickly, however, allowing for Castiel to see the faint blush appear across his cheeks. That was a development.

“Dean—”

Castiel’s voice was silenced as Dean placed his foot on the gas pedal, the car barreling out of the lot and towards the roads. He sighed, Dean was avoiding the subject, which meant it would have to be Dean to bring it up.

Dean did not disappoint on the driving, however, though in hindsight sitting next to a professional Formula One driver and not expecting to go fast was something Castiel had never truly thought he would get to do some day. The drive wasn’t silent however, Dean filling the first couple of hundred miles with commentary.

“She’s the newest one out there right now; only way they’d let me drive from place to place, too, since I’ve got to show off the brand. She’s nice, but I’m more of a classic car man.

“Baby’s something special back home. Literally first thing I asked for before I signed the contract to drive for Ferrari, that I’d get to drive my own car when we’re in the States. I could do with not being able to drive her anywhere else mainly ‘cause I don’t trust boats to get her safe from one place to another.

“This one here has got all the bells and whistles, though, and it’s got eight gears like our Ferrari cars have. Only this one’s got a crap ton more room to stretch my legs than that cockpit I’m usually in.

“There’s a Ritz in Vienna that’s pretty awesome to stay at. Sam and I would go just for the rooms and food, but since Austria is Red Bull’s turf we gotta be careful.

“There’s this other place out by Seckau that has the best gingerbread in the world. You have to try it.”

All of these musings, Castiel responded to kindly, though his eyes were more geared towards making sure he did not have a heart attack while in the passenger’s seat. Dean drove with care, yes, but “with care” did not equate to speeds in excess of 150 mph.

“You drive fast,” Castiel bit his lip.

“Well, I have a need for speed.”

Dean grew quiet once they had made it to the countryside, the more rural areas of Austria in between towns and cities dotting their day. The sight was breathtaking, entire mountains spanning the horizon as the sun and sky shone brightly across the road. Hannah had once told him about _The Sound of Music_ being based here, but Castiel had never seen the movie to realize just how beautiful the world looked. He also failed to realize Dean was slowing to a stop in the side of the road in the process. There wasn’t a soul for miles.

Dean sat in the driver’s side, his head refusing to turn to Castiel. Castiel observed Dean’s hands, how they fidgeted with the more time Dean remained silent.

“You’re nervous,” he noted.

“Understatement of the year,” Dean scoffed, but he sounded uncharacteristically timid. He breathed in deeply before turning to face Castiel fully. “I need to explain.”

“Dean, you don’t ha—”

“No, let me do this. I just kissed you on the other side of the pond and disappeared. It’s not cool and I know it.” Dean steeled himself. “I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting, moving the dates around on you with work and stuff. It’s not that I didn’t want to talk to you—you have no idea how much I want to talk to you, but I just couldn’t do it.”

“Sam explained to me a part of it after the interview.”

“Yeah, I asked him to. I just… Look, when I said I didn’t want us to be seen together it was only partly because we’re basically toying with forbidden shit here, but the other part was me wanting to make sure I didn’t have a smile plastered on my face like some giant neon sign every time you ask me a question. So I asked Sam to tell you because I’m a coward that can’t do it himself.” Dean looked down at his hands then, the air in the car growing thick. “I don’t know why; my life’s been a shit show, and you know most of it already. I never even asked you if you were into guys and I just left you there when you can’t even fucking skate.”

“I managed to get out on my own, thank you,” Castiel attempted to lighten the mood. Dean gave him a small smile in return.

“Still, if you don’t feel the same I don’t blame you, just know that. I’ll just drop you off at the next car rental place and make sure you get a nice one to drive around and see the sights in. I’ve got a man on the inside that could help you.” The driver refused to meet Castiel’s eyes once more, something Castiel could only smile at. This was a new side to the Dean Winchester he had spent getting to know both on and off the camera over the course of the last few months. This was a Dean Winchester that was human, a soul that had been ripped apart and was unsure of how he could heal. Castiel spent a minute looking at the man before him,  really looking at emotions he knew Dean almost never let out like this. This must have been why he said nothing at the airport, instead choosing a location in the middle of the Riviera where no one lived to talk.

“Guess I deserve the silent treatment—” Dean began, but any other words that would have come after that were silenced by Castiel’s lips on Dean’s. The contact was thousands of times stronger than the kiss they’d shared in Canada, this time Dean quickly realizing what was happening and opening up to allow Castiel to taste every inch inside. Castiel felt Dean wrap an arm around to the back of Castiel’s head to deepen the kiss, neither breaking apart from each other until what felt like hours later. When they did, Castiel found himself nearly completely on top of Dean; had it not been for the fact that they were still in a car Castiel likely would have been.

Dean pushed their foreheads together almost instinctively after, attempting to catch his breath. Castiel attempted to as well, though when he spoke he paused between breaths as they shared air. Castiel could feel Dean’s heightened heartbeat against his hand.

“When you meet someone special, you’ll know. Your heart will beat more rapidly and you’ll smile for no reason. I have no idea why I got this job that I am severely under qualified for, but I am so happy I met you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean looked up at Castiel, the blush he had only glimpse before now evident across the green-eyed man’s face enough to make his freckles pop. “Do you ever speak like a normal person?” There was no bite to his words. “I’m glad I met you, too, Cas.”

Dean did not start driving again until much later that night.

 

~

 

As promised, Sekau housed the greatest gingerbread known to man even if Dean still attempted to compare it to his beloved pie. The surrounding countryside had them staring off for hours, Castiel drinking in as much as he could before they would arrive in Spielberg (“How many movie references will I make before you catch on?” “I do not understand, Dean”). Every moment spent away from the cameras and the lights was spent together, be it holding onto each other while Dean insisted on driving the car as if he was in a Grand Prix, hiding away in secluded parts of Austria to lose hours in each other, and taking up as much of each other’s company as they could before they would be disbanded, each his own job to do. It was not the most ideal of situations, but Castiel had never felt so free, something he knew Dean emulated regardless of how careful they were at being seen.

When the time did come, Dean dropped Castiel off at the local airport car rental where Castiel would meet Frank, not allowing for Frank to think Castiel magically appeared at the track without a car he was meant to return. The plan had worked, but not before Dean pulled a fast one and planted a kiss on Castiel’s head just before they entered the airport lanes.

“I’ll meet you after the race, Angel,” Dean had taken to calling Castiel that in private.

“Good luck,” Castiel smiled back, stepping out of the car and resorting to not turning around out of concern that he would just get back in.

Frank found him in the rental car area as planned, though if he suspected the fact that Castiel did not have a ticket or anything that remotely gave the impression he had been driving he kept it to himself. Castiel was grateful for it. He was already keeping enough secrets as it was without having to lie and worry about those consequences as well.

 

~

 

“With the home race of the drink with wings in the playing field today, it will be interesting to see how Red Bull handles themselves in the constructor’s home country.” Castiel spoke evenly and accurately as he walked about the pit lane. It was the first day of practice sessions, cars already out and testing while Castiel gave an overview of the track and all that he had learned in the span of seeing Austria. “Though I have been told by some team principles that this track has proven unsatisfying in the past, the weather forecast for the weekend is promising enough that they are switching their strategies and keeping this information confidential until the race begins on Sunday.”

“We had the men in red win a 1-2 in Italy just two weeks ago. Do you think Michael and Lucifer of Red Bull will be able to pull off something similar for the Austrian based team?” Gabriel’s voice flowed through Castiel’s headphones as he asked his questions.

“That will remain to be seen, but we should also consider how Toro Rosso’s Charlie and Kevin fair on this track as well. From what I understand, Charlie is ahead of Lucifer in the points for the driver’s championship.”

“Oh, and wouldn’t that be a story!” Gabriel cried.  “The senior driver of the B team winning it over the senior driver of the A team. One even old Frank couldn’t twist around,” he jabbed playfully. “Well, we’ll leave you down there for now, Castiel, but thanks for the heads up as we return back to looking at how practice is going…”  The audible cut Castiel heard signaled he was no longer on air as the light of the camera Kelvin held in front of him shut off.

On the track, six cars were currently practicing, Lucifer and Dean among them. Sam was still in pits, his head bowed reviewing what appeared to be telemetry or some sort of data. The camera currently pointed at him did not turn to reveal just what it was he was looking at.

Now that the air was clear between Dean and Castiel, the team did not pay as much attention to him as they once did, but that did not stop the occasional stare down Castiel felt one of the Ferrari crew members angle his way. He understood the stakes, the risks. Dean had spent a fair amount of their drive between races explaining to him about what the team thought and how he’d spent more than a few meetings attempting to not want to punch his team principle in the face for even insinuating that Castiel was feeding secrets through to the press and other teams. There had yet to be concrete evidence that was not already linked to Adam on that part, but unfortunately the pool of speculation could run as deep as the ocean.

Both practice sessions of the day ended at their scheduled hour with only minimal emergencies, one when Ash found himself crashed out just before the pit lane entrance towards the end of the track’s final turns. With 10 turns, the Red Bull Ring, as the circuit is called, was one of the more compact tracks, but that did not stop the danger level from making itself known. Ash emerged from his car unscathed, but not without incurring a penalty for the impending need to fix his car for the race as well as for Qualifying.

Dean called Castiel almost immediately after Castiel had arrived at his quaint hotel room for the night.

“Hello?”

“Hey, open the goddamn door, will ya?”

Castiel stood at the door, his phone in hand, before he hid a smile. “You make this entire stealth act infinitely harder than it needs to be.”

“Yeah, yeah don’t blow my cover, Casper.” A muffled voice called from the other side of Castiel’s door. Dean was facing opposite the door to cover his back from what Castiel could tell and see from the peephole.

He opened the door swiftly, Dean losing his balance in the process. Dean tumbled inward, falling flat on his butt as Castiel skirted around him to close the door. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?” He smirked.

Dean chuckled. “Asshat.”

“I believe that is your term of endearment.”

“Oh, double asshat.” The Ferrari driver, decked out in a plaid flannel and jeans devoid of the trademark red, hoisted himself up until he bracketed the other man with his arms, Castiel walking back involuntary until his back was against the closed door.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

Dean kissed him gingerly, savoring the taste. Even with all of the time they spent on the road together by this point, the knowledge that Dean wanted this still shocked Castiel. They had stayed in separate rooms when they were driving together out of fear that rumors would somehow start despite their caution, which made Dean coming to Castiel’s while the Grand Prix weekend was just kicking off room all the more dangerous.

“Dean,” Castiel panted, his hands having reached up to tangle themselves in Dean’s short hair. “This entire floor is full of reporters.”

“Well then consider this me giving you an exclusive,” Dean whispered, a kiss punctuating each word.

“Why is it that I’m being more careful than you are?”

“You do know I’ve been keeping secrets my whole life, right? There’s no cameras here anyway and your curtains are drawn.” Dean retorted, but his eyes betrayed the sliver of doubt that Castiel knew was buried there. “Fine,” he said after a minute. “But I’ll have you know you better keep an eye on me tomorrow. Gonna smoke the devil himself.”

“Try not to get burned,” Castiel deadpanned. Dean scoffed.

“Do you ever not take things so seriously?”

“Half of what you say is not serious,” Castiel continued. “And I heard Red Bull surprisingly does not fare well here.”

“Last few years they’ve tanked here. First year I cut ‘em slack ‘cause nerves get the best of us when everything’s on the line, and I wasn’t even driving F1 by then, but last year didn’t work much either.” Dean brightened. “Charlie, though. Watch out for the red head. She’ll smoke us for real.”

“You did not come all this way and fear exposure just to tell me who you think will win this race…” Castiel tilted his head. “That would not make sense if you did.”

“What? Guy can’t go talk to his friend because he wants to?”

Castiel ignored the friend comment. “You love avoiding subjects.”

The other man stared back at Castiel, silently challenging him to let the matter go. When it was clear Castiel was just as stubborn as him, Dean sighed. “Adam’s not racing this one, but they’re putting him in for the British Grand Prix and he hasn’t said a word to anyone. Every time I see him he’s just standing by Michael or Lucifer like he’s got some debt to them or something.”

“Why are you letting this affect you now?”

“I’m not, I’m not. It’s just… Lucifer’s been looking at me like he’s got something on me and I don’t know what. He seem off when you interviewed him?”

Castiel digested the information. Lucifer’s threat still echoed in his mind since that day of the spotlight interview, but since then Frank had taken it upon himself to cover as many interviews for Castiel when it came to speaking to the Red Bull driver. He wasn’t sure why, but Castiel suspected Frank picked up on how uneasy Lucifer made him feel. “He is as he always is, and he is always spontaneously arrogant.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Dean clenched his jaw. “You’d tell me if you ever heard something, right?”

Castiel hesitated. He had yet to tell Dean about what Lucifer had said, even if it was not the case and Dean knew it was not. He still feared it would somehow affect Dean’s mental state for the race, even if a few languid kisses and an increased heart rate likely already had messed with Dean’s mind enough. “Of course,” he heard his voice say. “I should tell you, Frank gives most of Lucifer’s interviews now.”

Dean looked into Castiel’s eyes, searching for something Castiel was not sure he would find. He raised his eyebrows but did not push Castiel further. It was only then that Dean moved away from where Castiel had still been pinned to the back of the door.

“Give Frank the hard ones.” He waved his hand. Castiel followed the movement, unsure of what to say. “Well, I’m gonna hit the sack. Got Qualifying to look forward to and a race to win,” He winked. “Try to catch some sleep yourself. If I have to stand hearing you pace in the other room for another day I will personally come back in here and slap you six ways to Sunday.”

“You’re not even in this hotel.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” Dean shrugged, though Castiel could tell there seemed to be a small hint of hesitation in his step. “Night,” he moved once more to peck Castiel on the lips before he was gone out the door.

“Goodnight to you as well, Dean...”

 

~

 

Dean did not get his coveted pole position in Austria, that honor going to Charlie as she expertly maneuvered herself around the track when Qualifying drew to a close.

“And in a major disappointment for the hometown heroes, Michael and Lucifer have both qualified 7th and 8th respectively. It’ll be one hell of a fight they’ll have to get up and try and win it all tomorrow! Speaking of tomorrow, I hear Austria’s home to quite a few desserts out there, so if anyone wants to send some my way this little commentator would forever be in your debt!” Gabriel waggled a finger at the camera from where he sat.

Castiel could not see it directly from where he stood waiting for the top three Qualifiers to join him, but the sea of close to 40,000 spectators gave him an idea of just where they were in the program. The top three qualifiers were Toro Rosso’s Charlie Bradbury, Ferrari’s Dean Winchester, and Toro Rosso’s Kevin Tran to round out the third spot. Sam would start alongside Kevin in fourth.

“How does it feel to qualify on a track with Red Bull’s name?” Castiel asked Kevin first, his order going from 3rd and working his way through in the hopes that he would not do the exact thing Dean was afraid of doing and simply have a smile on his face throughout the entire interview.

“I can feel the excitement fans have here!” Kevin spoke, the youngness of his voice showing in the moments of greatest emotion. “It’s a rush to think we’re that much closer to winning it on home turf for our constructors, even if we don’t spell Red Bull like our sister team does in English.” He smiled, clearly overwhelmed from the onslaught of cameras and screams the crew drew out from Kevin’s words.

“And you, Charlie, what is your strategy going into tomorrow’s race for a Red Bull affiliated race win?”

“Well first thing is make sure ol’ red here,” Charlie put an arm around Dean, “lets my teammate through and then it’s to stay there ‘till all 71 laps are over and done with.” She spoke as if this was the simplest video game mission she had planned for, every tactic laid out in her head, but not for public knowledge just yet.

When the time came for Castiel to talk to Dean he felt just as he had all those months ago back in Australia, his words mincing together to a point where he was unsure of just what to say.

“Qualifying for second place we have Dean Winchester of Ferrari here,” Castiel spoke slowly, hyper aware of the camera on both his and Dean’s faces. “How do you feel your performance in Qualifying will prepare you for tomorrow’s race?”

“Well, I think today was a good starting point, but we will have to look at everything as a team for tomorrow in order to adapt to the strategies of those around us and maintain points and distance.” Dean spoke diplomatically, his eyes equally fighting what Castiel found himself up against. It was as if a force field of mines had been placed around every word they might say to each other in public.

Castiel knew Frank had wanted him to ask about Lucifer and Michael’s role in the weekend when it came to their placement, but to ask Dean that would be to put him on a spot neither of them wanted him to be in. Castiel resorted to taking the blame later and declaring the interview at an end. Fans continued screaming as Blue and Red filled the stands, the iconic Red Bull drink almost in every single hand that shot up in celebration of the end of the day’s events.

 

~

 

One of these days Castiel will ask Gabriel how the man does not lose his breath at the start of races.

“And it’s lights out and away we go—Charlie gets away well just as Dean Winchester barrels in from behind. Lucifer gained some ground before Samandriel cut him off in a surprise move by the Turner Renault. Bradbury leads them into turn one now as the lines gets blurred and cars are just fighting for positions! Sam Winchester has moved up into third as Kevin Tran drops a position, but it looks like the Chinese Canadian isn’t going down without a fight—and there goes Zachariah wide as he turns away from the onslaught of cars barring his ascent into Heaven. Hey nice, touch with that last one I should go into this for a living,” Gabriel joked, chatted, and cheered his way through the opening laps of the Austrian Grand Prix. There was plenty of action with very little car on car contact, the exception being when Zachariah turned too widely, resulting in him getting caught in a gravel trap just outside the third turn and out of the race entirely.

“This race isn’t the best for the home team. You won’t find the same support you saw in Italy,” Frank mentioned as Castiel watched. “Fans are fans regardless of what team they’re going for, but most Red Bull here also have a Toro Rosso cap they’ll change into if Charlie or Kevin win.”

“They are still the same team. I would grant that it makes sense,” Castiel looked towards the stands, at the similarly colored hats and banners, the depth making details difficult to make out.

Frank huffed. “I would grant that it shows you loyalty to Red Bull regardless,” He picked up his equipment. “Hurry up and quit gawking at the Ferrari. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you stopping work whenever one of ‘em gets into the pits.”

Castiel paused, hiding any outward reaction that would give him away.

The sound of a lollipop smack came over the radio loudly, causing Castiel to unconsciously attempt to ease his ear of the pain as Gabriel came up over the radio to continue his commentary. “And now fresh out of pits it is Lucifer coming in to rejoin the pack just ahead of Sam Winchester if he can manage it to steal fourth place. He had quite the ungodly pit stop if you ask me, but—And something’s happened to Morningstar! The angel is falling behind, ladies and gents, and it looks like it’s his tire!”

Sure enough, the camera that currently framed Lucifer’s car showed that one of his tires had been eviscerated almost completely, scraps barely clinging onto the frame of the tire still connected to the car as debris flew. Lucifer’s car spun right before crashing off and reversing, nearly colliding with Sam’s car in the process. Luckily, Sam made it out unscathed, a yellow flag going into effect just moments later.

It was clear Lucifer was not happy, fans echoing his distaste.

“I ran into the debris, so check the pressure,” Sam’s voice came over to his team radio.

“Roger that, Sam. Monitoring.”

“And that now makes it a grand total of 5 cars out of the Grand Prix right now!” Gabriel continued once Sam’s radio transmission ended. “We had the usual suspects of Ed and Harry from Formula Facers, Zachariah from Archa Formula, and now one of the big three himself at his team’s home race Lucifer Morningstar crashed out from what looks to be team error in tires. What a downer.”

“What indeed,” Castiel couldn’t help but mutter to himself.

The final podium resulted in Charlie claiming the title for Toro Rosso, Dean coming in second and Kevin in third, a picture mirror to what Qualifying had been, a feat not so commonly accomplished. Castiel caught Lucifer’s glare from where he sat in the Red Bull garage since he’d had his accident three quarters of the way through the race. He caught sight of Castiel briefly, his anger turning into a knowing glare. It did not sit well with Castiel as he continued walking to where he could see the podium and the drivers. Best not to trouble Dean yet with the information, not with how well everything had been going for them.

 

~

 

“I was gonna kill Lucifer for freezing me out at turn four when I got word about what happened,” Dean spoke freely once he had picked Castiel up from the airport where they had agreed to meet up the day after the race. “Damn near laughed at the irony.”

“Though I understand you and he do not see eye to eye, I do not think it best to wish harm among your fellow drivers.”

“What? No, I didn’t mean it like that. Just that karma’s a bitch.”

“How did the race feel for you apart from that?”

“Good. Really good. Car was holding up to the turns, team came through in the pits, and I didn’t have to think about anything but what she was telling me,” Dean patted the car he was driving to give Castiel the clue that he meant his formula one car. “She’s got 8 gears of power and nothing but speed.”

“All of the cars have 8 gears, right?” Castiel questioned. He did not know much about the cars themselves beyond that they look nothing like any cars he had seen before he joined the sport.

“Most do, yeah. We get oversight in design of wings and aerodynamics stuff, but by ‘we’ I mean our chief designer. The FiA puts out a list of regulations that we have to adhere to right down to the weight and length of the car. That’s why we get weighed at the end of every race.”

“Yes, so the combined weight meets up to regulation,” Castiel thought back to what Frank had mentioned during a transmission on a previous race where he had not been doing much yet. “Surely that can become competitive.”

“Oh yeah. I’ve seen drivers starve themselves, people wax to get off a few, and others go without our water supply while racing to try and lift the weights in favor of speed. It’s not pretty, Cas.” Dean hardened, the speed of the car almost increasing in response to his serious tone. “And with teams like Ferrari they want performance over health sometimes. Or at least, they used to be worse.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean remained silent for a few moments, as if debating on giving this information.

“Dean, if this is important, tell me,” Castiel prodded.

“Our team treats Sam and me well, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes they’ll ask things about like if we could go without the water I told you about... or if they can mess with aerodynamics that I know probably would cost us regulation standard. We always end up passing the tests before we can race, though, so I guess it’s all in my head.”

“So you mean Ferrari could be hurting you and paying off the marshals that inspect the cars? They’re purposely trying to rig the system and are getting away with it to the detriment of you,” Castiel tilted his head, now acutely aware that this was probably not information Dean should have shared.

For his part, the other man seemed to know the gravity of what he had just revealed. “Look, the water thing is fine ‘cause we’re drivers. We pull stuff like that because we want to win and it’s happened more than once. As for that other part… Never thought about it like that.”

“Ferrari is the oldest team in the sport. I read about that while doing research,” Castiel continued. “It would not be a stretch to think they did not use deep pockets or their notoriety to have some sort of failsafe in a car to make you go faster or something to that equivalent.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “They may have done crap like that before, but…” he stayed silent.

“But what?”

“They can’t tell us much about the cars when we’re driving beyond what modes they recommend us being, and I learned enough about cars growing up to know what it means...” Dean quieted. “I dunno, Cas. Maybe.”

“And as for the lack of water. Competition or not, you lose a lot of water weight while driving. It could jeopardize your health in ways you are not immediately aware of.”

“Okay, Mr. ‘Not really a doctor.’”

“I told you I was pre-med before I switched majors.”

“So like a TV Doctor then. _Doctor Sexy,_ ” Dean winked. Whatever comparison he had made was lost on Castiel, but it did make the journalist blush.

“I know it’s safe to say you figured this out, but I think I just broke fifty different rules in telling you that.” Dean made a turn with the car and shifted his weight in counterbalance, an instinct Castiel had noticed was a result of him being a professional racing driver.

“We have been down this road, Dean,” he prodded. “I will not tell a soul, but you must promise me to keep the water equipment in your car for your own safety.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep it in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> “When you meet someone special, you’ll know. Your heart will beat more rapidly and you’ll smile for no reason.” – Unknown 
> 
> Fun Facts:  
> Red Bull actually doesn't do well in their home race. That's not something I made up for the fic XD They're getting better though


	10. Great Britain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Charlie B. (136 points)  
> Sam W. (134 points)  
> Dean W. (119 points)  
> Kevin T. (110 points)  
> Crowley M. (86 points)  
> Lucifer M. (78 points)  
> Michael S. (71 points)  
> Balthazar R. (40 points)  
> Benny L. (38 points)  
> Gadreel P. (33 points)

Castiel had heard about the Eurotunnel, a name for the English Channel tunnel that connects France to the United Kingdom by going under the water, but he had never thought he’d get to experience what it was like. He and Dean connected to the train that would take them and their car across the pond to where Dean would drive to Silverstone, home of the British Grand Prix for the weekend, a weekend that was starting in less than a few hours now. They had lost track of time going through the rest of Austria and debating on whether or not to stop in Paris, a debate that lasted well into when they had managed to see the Eiffel Tower from a distance.

Castiel fidgeted in his seat while the train that carried all the cars moving through the tunnel, all cars having been boarded onto specific carriages of the train in order to cross. There was no transit in the tunnel except for the two trains. His thoughts still weighed with what Dean had told him at the start of their latest adventure.

“What, you don’t like the idea that there’s a billion pounds of water above us?” Dean turned to where he sat in the parked car, the AC running. “I’d take this over flying any day, to be honest.”

“I do not like not being able to see the sky, so yes,” Castiel shot back, his eyes traveling to where he could see the train moving through the tunnel. What point would there be in telling Dean he was worried about something else?

Dean scoffed. “You must not like being under a lot of things then,” he arched his eyebrow to emphasize his point.

“I do not mind be under certain things. People I know sleep under something in bed, for example.” He had meant covers, but Dean’s resulting silence proved Dean had been thinking about something else entirely.

 

~

 

They made it to Silverstone later that day, a rather flustered Dean attempting to make conversation and test the limits of the car in the time since they got off the tunnel. Castiel still had yet to understand what had caused Dean’s reaction, though he never asked.

Sam called them just as Dean pulled up to the gate near the back of the track and away from prying eyes, Dean placing the call on speakerphone so they could both hear. “You’re late. Crew’s asking where you’ve been.”

“I’m fine, Sammy. Cas and I are just pulling up now.”

“Wait, what?” Sam yelled. “You’re _with_ Cas? Are you nuts?” He whispered quickly after, anxious, as if he were the one that could get in trouble. “And you’re here like he’s not a journalist that people could make assumptions about?”

“Relax!” Dean sounded defensive. “Drivers give lifts to network execs sometimes. That’s not a big deal.”

“Dean, name _one_ driver that’s done that in the past ten years, and Castiel’s an intern reporter not freaking Carver Edlund.”

Castiel could not help but digest Sam’s words. “It was rather reckless for us to drive straight here, I suppose.”

“We’ll be fine. It’s fine,” Dean did not sound as convinced as he had been upon first speaking with Sam. “Look, I’ll drop you off here, circle around for a bit, and then park the car where I’m supposed to, okay? I’ll see you at the bullring.”

“Dean…” Castiel was unsure of what to say, Dean’s demeanor changing before his eyes as Dean reverted to his composed driving persona for the race. Gone was the man that was carefree on the roads, without an ounce of regret, the man that Castiel had fallen even more deeply for, even if their intimate interactions were never in public areas. They still shared looks, but more often than not, their private moments would go no further out of fear that they would be spotted or that a hotel maid or hostess would infer something if they stayed in the same room.

Castiel had grown accustomed to it after a few weeks, but that did not stop him from mourning the loss of the intimacy that the race weekends had started to take away from them. He may know that Dean likes him, but they had yet to talk about anything further than that.

“Hey, don’t worry about me. I’m having the time of my life here and I got carried away. Sue me for not wanting that to change just yet,” Dean glanced around their surroundings once more. “Listen, there’s this place in Hungary I want to show you next week. You up for it?”

“Of course.”

Dean moved to what looked to be to squeeze Castiel’s hand, but he hesitated before retracting it. “Keep your eye on me out here. Silverstone’s Mercedes’s turf, but don’t count Ferrari out.”

“Speaking of that, get your ass here as quick as you can, Dean. People have been asking why I’m here and you’re not,” Sam chimed in once more, his presence having been forgotten by his brother. “Bye, Cas. Have fun out here.” The call ended soon after.

 

~

 

Silverstone was the name of the circuit located just next to the Northamptonshire villages of Silverstone the town, the home of the British Grand Prix as well as the home to many British-based constructors and teams.

“3.6 mile track full of trees and dreary weather,” Frank grumbled. “Not for nothing, but I’m not one for lugging around equipment when a typhoon hits.”

They were in the back of the paddock checking equipment when Frank started talking. He nearly tore Castiel a new one for arriving later than he had planned, but any and all questions that could have led to a stickier situation with where Castiel had been since Austria were not raised, something Castiel was thankful for. “This is where boredom starts to set in if nothing happens for the less diehard fans.”

“How so?”

Frank gave him a glare. “Because it gets repetitive.” He spoke as if this should be obvious. “I’ve been a racing journalist for the last twenty years and even I get bored if nothing happens on the track. Most fans are the same way even if no one wants to recognize it.”

Castiel sobered. “You mean fans will get bored if there is no action, and by action you mean a crash,” he clarified.

“Well, look at the intern learn,” Frank did not phrase it as a joke even if it was most likely meant as one. “This sport’s old, kid. Just be glad it’s not the days where a driver died every other race.” With that, the danger of the sport came back to haunt Castiel like it had months ago.

In a world where velocity was key, there was no stopping people from cutting corners to put on a show. Dean had already shown him that with what he had said about his team, even if he did not mean it maliciously. Formula One was, and still is in many ways, a business that profited on the action its drivers left on the track. If everything was safe and easy to accomplish, then it would not be the biggest motor racing sport in the world. Danger and F1 were synonymous, a fact Castiel couldn’t ingrain into his head completely without questioning why humans could have such self-destructive tendencies and yet still wish to race rocket ship-fueled cars.

Then he remembered Dean.

“You’re on pit duty, but Gabriel wants to try to talk to you more this race. And we’ve got a tour of the Men of Letters headquarters if you’re up for it. That means you’d have to fly with me there, though.”

“I’m alright, but thank you for the invitation.” Castiel found himself saying.

“...What, got a hot date or something?” Frank challenged.

Castiel covered quickly. “I enjoy seeing as much as I can in the time I have here.”

Frank scoffed. “Sure, like there isn’t a girl involved. Don’t tell me your ears aren’t red. I’ve got eyes.” Frank was king of conspiracies, a fact Castiel knew but still did not always realize.

Castiel didn’t argue. After all, he was not entirely far off.

The cameramen picked up their equipment and began testing different shots while the practice sessions went under way, Castiel catching a glimpse of both Winchesters getting into their cars and reviewing what he assumed to be racing information in their garages. In the Mercedes garage, Adam sat in his car as Gabriel talked about playtesting him on hallowed ground for Formula One, the UK being arguably the birthplace of motor racing and home base for many Formula One employees and teams.

Only a few cars were out in the first few minutes of the session, allowing for Castiel to go around the pit lane and ask team principles of the British-based teams what they thought on how they would do on their home soil.

Team Principle Hess of the British Men of Letters wanted nothing to do with him, but at least he tried. When he went to Mercedes he was only able to speak briefly with Crowley, the driver refusing to refer to him as anything except “Feathers.” Adam and the rest of the team only stared at him until Castiel caught the message, a picture very similar to how Ferrari had treated him only a few races before. It disturbed him about just how usual these patterns resulted for him.

Castiel did not see Dean that night, though from how Dean had been driving in the first set of practices compared to the other drivers, Castiel did not blame him. He needed to focus, and Castiel had learned he was not going to help with that.

The next day’s session of practices proved more fruitful for the older Winchester from what Castiel could see, but even Gabriel had to admit that the driver that took the day was Adam Milligan himself, the silver arrow of his Mercedes car speeding down the track, cutting through any and all obstacles as he practiced.

“Looks like the reserve driver has blossomed into a reserved man,” Gabriel quipped. Frank audibly groaned in the media center.

Qualifying proved to almost mirror the Free Practice 3 session that Adam had just dominated, a tire issue causing Dean to retire early on in the last round of Qualifying and allowing in turn for Adam and other drivers to out qualify him at the very end. It was Adam that would start the race on the pole position, the home crowd cheering for their favorite as Crowley qualified just second alongside his new teammate. A camera panned to reveal Metatron in the Mercedes garage, his expression not one of excitement like the rest of his team, rather, the expression of a man that had lost everything before he knew what he had. Castiel almost felt sorry for him, despite what Dean had told him about how Metatron acted in the past.

Dean ended up qualifying fifth just behind his brother to start out the race, but that did not stop the Winchester from closing and opening his fists in frustration once he had gotten out of the car, helmet still on. The cameras couldn’t see the expression on his face, but his body language left little to the imagination.

He texted Castiel later that night.

 

**D: So maybe Im not the best here**

 

Castiel smiled at the message, his heart leaping to heights he had grown accustomed to it sitting despite all the roadblocks that they had suffered through to get there.

 

_C: My, how this coveted championship that you so desperately want is slipping away…_

**D: Whoa now. Who said anything about me slippin?! Ill catch up. Adam just got into my head is all**

**D: And I’ll have you know I’m currently in third and still in the running thank you very much**

_C: Did he say anything?_

_C: And I’m glad. I know Charlie is currently two points ahead in first, however_

**D: You’re supposed to be rooting for me Cas**

_C: I have to be unbiased, Dean. And as I recall it was I that told you this originally._

**D: Not the point**

**D: And I’m not avoiding your question. Just don’t want to think about it.**

_C: What happened now?_

**D: Nothing it’s fine. Just when you think you know a guy, you know?**

_C: I hadn’t realized you and Adam were close_

**D: We’re really not, but Sam tried to be at first**

**D: Look can we not talk about this? I know you like to ask questions but I’m just not in the mood**

_C: Okay._

 

Castiel looked at his phone. He did not think Dean meant anything by his words or how he should take them. It was very likely that Dean was just tired from not qualifying when he had wanted to start the race. It would not be the first time.

 

_C: For the record, I may have been compromised in that unbiased opinion. I thought you should know._

**D:** **☺**

**D: Knew I liked you**

 

The race was wet, a typical course of action in the United Kingdom and something Dean had warned Castiel about before the weekend had even started. It did not stop the cars from swerving on the track, however, Charlie and Benny each nearly taking each other out on a turn halfway through the race while Michael spun out altogether, resulting in a “Did Not Finish” or DNF for the race. Despite the downpour that would have slowed any other race down, drivers sped down the chicanes and turns as if the sun was out and the wind was blowing, drivers like Gadreel and Kevin racing head to head for points paying positions. In the end, however, it was Lucifer that was crowned the winner, Crowley and Adam finishing out the podium in second and third respectively. Despite how rough the weekend was for him, however, Dean managed to out place his brother by grabbing fourth, his stake in the championship remaining bright in the process.

That night, after the parties and the interviews, Dean showed up to Castiel’s room unexpectedly. They had already agreed that meeting in person from then on would prove difficult during race weekends, not to mention how careful they were when they were on the road, but it did not seem to stop Dean in that moment. Though, in all honestly, nothing seemed to stop Dean.

When Castiel opened the door at the sound of the knock, Dean came barreling in, his hands wrapping themselves around the other man’s waist as his lips crashed into Castiel’s. It was sudden, fervent, with an urgency Castiel had not had seen from Dean since their first kiss when they started driving together. He could taste the liquor on Dean’s lips.

“What was that for?” Castiel broke away from the kiss.

“’m juss sick of not bein’ able to do that more of’en,” Dean’s voice was slurred but quiet, his half lidded eyes roaming over every one of the journalist’s features. “It’s a thanks for stickin’ through this with me and puttin’ up with the secrets.”

“… Dean, is something wrong?”

Dean’s eyes centered back to catch Castiel’s own, a movement so common and yet so foreign to Dean in that moment, like he wasn’t sure what he was doing. “It’s fine, just nervous is all.” Castiel chose not to prod. This was still most likely all new to Dean, or rather, it was new for him to be able to have something this intimate, even if they had yet to talk about it. Castiel was about to bring up that little thought when Dean’s weight shifted as his arms unfolded to let Castiel free.

“See ya in a bit. Shouldn’t stay for long.” He was gone just as quickly as he showed up, leaving Castiel to wonder why in the world his heart felt both full and empty all at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts:
> 
> F1 arguably has it's birthplace in the UK outside of Ferrari, and many constructors either have their main base there or at least they're communications offices.
> 
> The Men of Letters originally never had a place in this fic because they didn't exist when I started connecting this out, but Ketch and Mick actually ended up replacing to other characters entirely and fit right in.


	11. Hungary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Charlie B. (144 points)  
> Sam W. (144 points)  
> Dean W. (131 points)  
> Kevin T. (112 points)  
> Crowley M. (104 points)  
> Lucifer M. (103 points)  
> Michael S. (71 points)  
> Benny L. (44 points)  
> Balthazar R. (40 points)  
> Gadreel P. (37 points)

Dean never once mentioned the scene in the hotel room in the time between the British Grand Prix and the following stop: Hungary for the Hungarian Grand Prix. Instead they spent the time visiting different areas, Dean even allowing Castiel to take some pictures of them on his phone in different locations. They visited some of the museums located in the United Kingdom, saw Big Ben, and then traveled through beautiful countrysides to find themselves in Budapest, Hungary just before the race weekend was set to start.

“What was it you wanted to show me here?” Castiel wondered aloud as they walked between backroads of the older buildings that dotted around the newer ones of Budapest.

“It’s back here. No one knows it exists, which makes it the perfect place,” Dean spoke as he guided Castiel farther and farther into the nest that were the interconnecting roads, locals giving them odd looks as they continued traveling. No one recognized Dean despite his choice to not wear his sunglasses to at least hide his eyes. Castiel found that he liked it when Dean felt like he did not need to hide, but that in turn heightened his own senses. He knew what could happen should they be found and questions be raised, or rather, he knew enough already about the sport to know that people would draw conclusions and stick with them regardless of excuses. Frank was the head in that department.

“Here we are,” Dean extended his hand out in motion to the building directly in front of them on the deserted road. “Welcome to Instant.”

Castiel regarded the building. The entire exterior was dilapidated and old, a relic of an era long past. Despite that, however, lights and what appeared to be electronics seemed to expand out like vines, cables and wires running out of the more ruined areas of the building and upwards to what appeared to be higher floors. Every single feature screamed old history, but to Castiel...

“It looks like a ruined building,” Castiel noted.

Dean scoffed. “‘Course you wouldn’t see it. I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Was that meant to be a joke or a fact?” Castiel shot back, no bite to his words apart from his question. Dean ignored it.

“It’s called a ruin bar. People rescue buildings like this that otherwise would be torn down and repurpose them for the sole purpose of it being a bar, thus you get things like this Frankenstein.” He pointed to the building. “My friend owns it, but there’s something in here I’ve been wanting to show you for a while.”

Castiel chose not to answer, instead motioning for Dean to lead them inside. What he found took his breath away.

Due to the ruined expanse that was the building, there were some rooms that sat exposed to the center courtyard and made up the dance floor of the bar, decorations dotting every single spot on the walls. A living tree existed in the center of the dance floor and was covered in lights and fake sakura blossoms, a centerpiece that sat just under a white Pegasus statue that lit up. There were corridors that looked like they led to other rooms, but for now the place sat empty.

“On any given night over a thousand people will be in here,” Dean’s voice carried despite the areas that were open to the sky. “This is my favorite bar this side of the world.”

“It is truly exotic,” Castiel commented, his eyes still roamed over the different photographs of famous artists and musicians as the lights twinkled and extended throughout the space. As they made their way up the steps Castiel passed by a bathroom covered in music memorabilia as well as a set of garlands that looked as if they had come with the building while still acting like a decoration. Trinkets and heirlooms from what could be witch or psychic spells also dotted glass cases, spider webs completing the look in some areas.

“It’s in here somewhere. I always end up getting lost,” Dean muttered to himself. Castiel paid him no attention as they ventured deeper into the realm that was the ruin bar. It felt like a maze, each room a treasure where each wall carried a story.

“This picture alone, without the written world, leaves half the story untold,” he whispered to the walls, desperate to hear how they got to this place, how this building came to become an ecosystem for the peculiar.

“Dunno, but maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story,” Dean called from behind him, having heard Castiel’s words. Castiel recognized the quote, a smile playing at his lips.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Funny you ask.”

They had been standing in front of a closed wooden door, the grain of the wood cracked with age that still matched the tone of the world around it, like a knight in a castle. “Open it.”

Castiel stared at the older Winchester. “Will something happen?”

“Not unless you want it to.” Dean winked. He seemed nervous.

Castiel tilted his head at the other man, but he turned to the door not long after. He had come to trust Dean, even if it meant following him to the ends of the world on ventures he was certain would get them in places they most likely should not be, but in this case, it did not feel dangerous.

He opened the door gingerly, the light from the hallway creating a sliver that began to illuminate the room with every inch that opened. Castiel instantly saw pieces of papers plastered to the wall, every inch of it. A quick survey of the rest of the room and the other walls showed the same thing. Every single inch of the room from the ceiling all the way to the floor was covered in paper wrinkled with age. Words still prevalent on some pages while faded on others, some handwritten and others appearing to be typed.

It did not occur to Castiel what the words said until he got closer to a wall.

“These are all quotes,” he marveled. He recognized poems from TS Eliot, Walt Whitman, Shakespeare, and Rumi as well as quotes from nearly every book or music lyric, including a few that he himself had memorized due to their meaning.

 

_Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all_

 

_The woods are lovely dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep_

 

_odi et amo_

 

_Nature’s first green is gold, it’s hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; but only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf, so Eden sank to grief, so dawn goes down to day, nothing gold can stay_

 

Castiel brushed over the last quote, his thoughts jumping back to green eyes he knew very well and all that their owner had suffered. “Do you know why I like words, Dean?”

“I can take a guess, but tell me,” he answered, his voice soft from where he’d stayed at the front of the room to let Castiel roam.

“Because they tell stories deeper than the ink in which they are written. They speak beyond human understanding and are still deciphered far beyond their inception.” Castiel’s fingers glazed over the papers. “ Quotes are relics of the past that hold our future. That is why so many religions keep scripture, or rather, that is what I believe.” His eyes continued to roam as he spoke. “Reading those words and reading what others perceive is never an action you can do twice. Every experience is new because every word is chosen carefully to orchestrate that idea.”

“Look at you, Mr. Poet,” Dean began to follow as Castiel moved about the room. “Can I show you one of my favorites in here?”

“You have one?”

“What? I read,” Dean echoed words that Castiel felt were both familiar and yet new to his ears. He hummed in response, a smile on his face. Dean shook his head in the light, his eyes catching the few rays of the variety of colors contrasting with the pale shades of gray and yellow of the paper. Castiel almost thought he looked like a painting in that moment. His mind fought to ingrain the memory of a man surrounding by words that had the potential to describe him and yet fail in doing so every single time, because how do you describe that which is indescribable?

Dean moved around the room to the far side of the wall on the right of the rectangular room, the one not as affected by the light that still came through the door. His hands skimmed through a series of pages as he walked, searching for one paper in particular. It took him a few minutes to find it, but when he did his hand landed on the page as his body turned for Castiel to join him. Castiel did and bent down to squint at the faded words that rested just below where Dean’s fingers were.

 

_Cold, late night so long ago_

_When I was not so strong you know_

_A pretty man came to me_

_Never seen eyes so blue_

_You know, I could not run away it seemed_

_We'd seen each other in a dream_

_Seemed like he knew me_

_He looked right through me_

 

“It’s a song lyric. Found it my first time here. Didn’t really think I’d ever relate to it as hard as I do now,” Dean’s words were rushed. “From the minute you said you liked quotes I’ve been wanting to bring you here, even way back then.”

Castiel did not speak, choosing instead to only look up at the man that now had a hand behind his neck in shyness. He looked smaller, like a child still admitting a crush to a person he’s grown to call a friend. They had still yet to talk about them, what they were, and every time up until that point Dean had avoided the subject or not allowed for the conversation to turn that way despite what few moments they did share when they thought no one was looking. He waited for Dean to speak next, but he could not stop the small smile that played across his lips.

“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you,” Dean chanced a look at Castiel, his words smaller due to how close they were. Castiel had not realized they had gravitated towards one another until he could feel the puff of air whenever Dean breathed.

“No, but I would like to know whether or not that is where this conversation is heading before I speak,” Castiel opted to say.

Dean sighed and briefly closed his eyes. “…Minute I met you, Cas, I dunno what to say. You didn’t know who I was or tried to get on my side for the fame of it all. You bad mouthed my sport because you thought it was dumb,” he made a face at Castiel, though not in malice. “—And then you help save my ass after the first race. And with all the crap we’ve had with Adam messing with me and my team thinking you’re not who you are, I think it’s safe to say we wouldn’t be where we are if I didn’t think there was a reason.

“Look, I don’t believe in fate—Never have—I believe in choice, and lately…” he gulped. “Lately it’s felt like I try to make every choice just so I can have you in my life.” Dean avoided Castiel’s eyes as he finished speaking. “I can’t run away from you. I need you, Cas.”

In that moment, he was not the Formula One racer or the driver of the most well renowned team in arguably the entire motor racing industry. He was not a celebrity or a maniac that lived on the edge. He was not a playboy or a mouthpiece.

The man Castiel saw before him was just Dean, just a man that has been broken so many times that it took a journey across the world for him to open his heart to another.

Love.

This was what Love felt like. Dean was just using different words.

“This is where I am. This is where I will stay,” Castiel moved to place his hands in Dean’s own. “If you’ll have me, as cursed as I apparently am to you.”

“Why would you ever say that?” Dean looked like he was on the verge of both happiness and fear, his features warring with themselves at every syllable Castiel uttered.

“Because I cannot help but feel that whenever I am involved it is only worse for you. I do not wish to see you get hurt, Dean. Surely you see that.” He squeezed Dean’s hands in an effort to ground him.

Dean squeezed back. “Well, I’d rather have you, cursed or not.” His eyes made sure to lock onto Castiel’s own. There was an emotion there that seemed uncovered now, like a veil that had finally fallen in this quiet room in the middle of Hungary.

Castiel smiled, his thoughts aligning to just what that emotion was. “This sounds like a conversation of quotes we’ve already had, yet they sound different.”

“You said something about how some people are meant to be in different stories,” Dean pointed out. “Maybe we’re ‘some people’ and there’s more than one story.”

“I believe that now makes you sound like the poet, Mr. Formula One Driver.”

“Maybe I should change careers.” Dean looked looser now, lighter. “But, to be clear, this is me trying to do some big romantic gesture for you, something I normally do _not_ do.”

“By taking me to a room full of quotes and telling me that you ‘need’ me...” Castiel couldn’t help but extend air quotes at the thought, all of his words playful. “It is a very unique romantic gesture, Dean, and one I humbly accept. Though I doubt you do not enjoy doing something like this”

Dean burst out laughing at Castiel’s motions. “How did I fall for you, you dorky quote encyclopedia?”

“The same way I fell you for, I believe.” Castiel moved to rest his forehead against Dean’s own, his arms having come up to rest on Dean’s shoulders. “Like the speed of the car you drive.”

They did not end the kiss that followed until Dean’s friend and owner of the bar, Pamela, came to snuff them out well into the following morning.

 

~

 

Practice was in full swing by the time Castiel got to the paddock the next day, Dean having dropped him off early in the morning in order to keep up their charade in the event that something happened, but by that point neither was particularly troubled by the thought. Not after the events of the night and the confessions they had made in a little safe haven that they now considered their own.

Castiel was almost used to the fact that people from different teams or racers would give him looks due to the false information he knew Adam and Lucifer were likely spreading here or there, but what he did not expect was that even Frank gave him no more than his assignment, refusing to speak any further or have anything to do with Castiel once he had received his microphone late at a practice that had already began. Gabriel spoke about the practice in the background as a few cars rolled out to test their limits in the Hungaroring, the name of the circuit they were are.

Gabriel’s voice was the only source of sound for nearly the duration of the practice session, even with the rocket fueled engines barreling down the track at speeds exceeding over 200 miles an hour. Something was wrong. Castiel could feel the unsettling atmosphere he suddenly found himself in, a rabbit in a sea of tigers. It had been months since he had felt so out of place, the only other experience his mind equating this moment back to being his first race in Australia where he knew nothing and no one. No one except for the mysterious man that he had met on the plane ride over that ended up being one of the biggest reasons why he chose to stay and push himself to learn all that he had thus far. Now it felt like an alien world once more, velocity the raptor that had come to eat him like in that movie he’d watched with Dean during their road trip. It had dinosaurs in it, circling children without revealing all of their fangs.

He attempted to text Dean later that night. Dean would know if something happened, if Adam or Lucifer spoke any further about anything. Frank did not even speak to him when he went to return his equipment, and Gabriel did not call on him as often, though Castiel caught more than one attempt at doing so that Gabriel covered up mid-sentence. It was like they were willingly attempting to erase him, or at least that is how Castiel felt. Suddenly he was a foster child again, no parents or place to truly call home beside the one he had adopted for himself.

He needed to talk to Dean.

Dean didn’t respond. The message sat unanswered. A pit lodged itself in Castiel’s throat, but there was nothing on the internet that stated something was wrong or public.

 

What Castiel failed to realize at the time was that news broke within the sport first behind closed doors before it leaked to the general public, as was the case the following day of practice as well as Qualifying.

The morning had been very similar to the day and night before, teams from all angles, most of all Ferrari, giving Castiel a wide berth. Mercedes and Red Bull, however, only smirked at him while he passed, some members even calling out to him uncharacteristically. Castiel saw Adam give him a wave, something that most definitely was not normal.

He needed a place to figure things out, a place to understand what was going on and to try to get his head back on straight. The hardest battles are not fought solely head on. One must recognize that the greatest battle is the ability to pull back and dwell on what has happened. And so he did, retreating to the hospitality suites, monitors staged to broadcast Gabriel’s commentary on how the practice session was going with Qualifying soon to start at that point.

“Well well well, guess we’ve got an intern that can’t figure out when to quit,” a voice rose from behind him. Castiel turned at the sound to see none other than Adam Milligan himself, decked out in the silver of a team that is way above him in stature.

“What are you doing here,” the statement did not come out as a question. The last person Castiel wanted to see was Adam, especially with thoughts of how closely tied he had since learned Adam was to Lucifer.

“Oh, I’m just here to see your face when the story breaks.” Adam moved to get in Castiel’s eye line fully, a chair being pulled up as he sat down at the high-rise table Castiel had taken in the relatively quiet area.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Castiel’s heartbeat quickened. Did Adam know something about Dean and him? Did Lucifer spread even more false information? Or worse, the truth?

“Like you don’t know,” Adam mocked, his tone referencing to one of Lucifer’s favorite tricks to play with people. “Though, I guess you may not, not really.” He held up his phone, a waveform of some sort of recording lit up on the screen. “You see, this was just recently leaked to the general public.” He hit the play button.

“—Ferrari could be hurting you and paying off the marshals that inspect the cars. They’re purposely trying to rig the system and are getting away with it to the detriment of you,” Castiel heard his own voice feed through the recording, his gut sinking with every syllable. “It would not be a stretch to think they did not use deep pockets or their notoriety to have some sort of failsafe in a car to make you go faster or something to that equivalent.”

“—Maybe” Dean’s voice was added to the conversation, spliced in to cut out the other parts that made it look as if Castiel was recording the conversations.

“You planted a bug in Dean’s car while we were driving.” Castiel pieced the puzzle together. There was no other way Adam would have obtained that information.

“ _I_ didn’t do shit, _Cas,_ ” Adam threw Dean’s nickname for Castiel around. “I only made sure to tell Carver Edlund myself that the intern reporter he helped hire was stealing trade secrets by screwing the top driver and leaking them to the other teams. I told him about how you came on to him and probably drugged him while you two have been parading around Europe like idiots. Honestly, Castiel. Did you not think one of us wouldn’t see you?” Adam moved to swipe on his phone, the recording replaced with a candid photo of Dean and Castiel in the car, Castiel’s hands moving to match Dean’s lips with his own. It was framed from Castiel’s point of view, the only way to recognize Dean being through his sunglasses and that fact that they were in the car Dean had rented. Still, it made it look like Castiel was the one predominantly in charge of everything, a case that, in this particular moment, did not sit well.

Castiel’s heart stopped. Carver Edlund was the man that was the head of the sport. He basically _was_ Formula One. Any and all rules went directly through him, and Frank had told him it was Carver that personally recruited Castiel himself.

“You fabricated all of this. You and Lucifer with your lies and treachery because Dean kept his seat at Ferrari and Lucifer despises Sam and Dean.”

Adam shook his head. “Oh don’t worry, Dean was the first to know about your little ‘stunt’ and about how everything’s ‘been a lie’ this whole time, or at least, that’s the story I’m sticking with.” He waved the recording in the air. “And don’t worry. The picture stays with me for now. Just getting you out of here will be enough to mess with Dean on the track.” Adam moved away before Castiel could respond. “Guess I won’t be seeing you, but I’ve got a pole position to win today. You have a thing for quotes, right? I got one for you,” he moved closer into Castiel’s space. “‘One of the cruelest things you can do to another person is pretend you care about them more than you really do.’ One Dean Winchester received that this morning with a little note next to the recording,” Adam smiled wickedly.  

Castiel was left in an empty room and a destroyed world.

The news would break soon, and there was nothing Castiel could do about it getting out now. Carver already knew. The teams already knew, judging by how he had been treated the entire weekend, and Frank most likely did think he was some sort of spy fresh out of one of his conspiracy theories. Those he could deal with. Those he could figure out how to stop.

What killed him was that fact that Dean thought he was lying about falling in love with him just to get incriminating information.

Qualifying did not seem to be affected from what Castiel could see, Dean landing pole position with Adam just behind in the front row. Sam qualified third. Fans screamed at the news, either because they knew this was the first time the former reserve driver would be on any sort of level with the other two drivers or because they sensed a story was breaking and unfolding right before their eyes, it was hard to say. Even Gabriel was at a loss for words about what exactly to give out, but he was no stranger to giving a comment about the irony of the situation to have all three qualify near the top when there was a battle yet to be waged between them off the track as well. Castiel had stayed in the hospitality suite the entire rest of the day, vowing to attempt to make this right once Qualifying had ended and the night came to a head. The news still hadn’t broken, from what he could tell on the internet, despite the looks he was receiving from journalists and teams alike now. It was very possible that Adam was lying about having told Dean as well on top of the lies he had fabricated with the tapes.

He watched Dean get out of the car in preparation for the post-Qualifying interviews, a different journalist coming up to give them. Frank had not told him they were doing one this race, but it was very likely because of what had transpired within the network that they caused the switch without telling Castiel. It was not like his job was permanent here.

Adam spoke for the majority of the time allotted, Sam and Dean’s eyes pensive from the background. Dean only gave general surface level answers about the state of the car and the race ahead to the journalist, who was a former driver himself, Castiel later learned. Sam was similar in answering questions, but it was clear neither Winchester enjoyed being near a smiling Adam in that moment. Dean refused to look at the camera. His stance only solidified that he knew something. Adam might have actually told him the lies he had confronted Castiel with already, after all.

Castiel needed to get to him before the thoughts stuck. He needed to make sure Dean knew the truth even if the evidence against him fought to usurp whatever sort of relationship they had only just started to build.

 

~

 

Despite Dean not answering any of Castiel’s messages or voicemails, Castiel still managed to find Dean’s hotel room number later that night out of sheer persistence. It was like a beacon to him, figuring out where Dean was. He made a few guesses that proved true, yes, but if it hadn’t been for the fact that he had learned how Dean operated when they checked into hotels during their European sightseeing trip, he would not have found it.

“Dean, please Dean, answer the door,” Castiel knocked softly, wary of waking up other hotel guests in such an open space. If he were to be caught now then it would only prove to be worse in the eyes of a public with a misunderstood story. The news had broken that night, the pictures not surfacing but the recording prevalent on almost every social media platform, the “creditor” being Castiel himself. Already over two hundred stories had been written about Castiel’s proposed actions and painted Dean as the victim, citing alcohol as the factor to get him to talk.

They did not know the full story. They didn’t know anything.

Dean wouldn’t answer the door despite nearly an hour of Castiel’s pleas. He almost resorted to physically breaking down the door before he heard the click of a lock go off, the door opening slightly to reveal a very phased out Dean in the small space he opened.

“Please let me in, I can explain everything, I swear.” Castiel nearly begged, his voice hushed. “It’s not safe here.”

“Funny, how safe things are around you,” Dean’s voice was cold, colder than Castiel had ever heard him be before. It only served to escalate the tension.

Dean moved away from the door, allowing for Castiel to push his way inside, but by the time he had closed the door behind him Dean was already sitting down on a chair by an expansive dining table in his room, green eyes avoiding Castiel’s blue and a permanent frown etched across his face.

“Adam is lying, Dean. He came at me today—”

“Save it,” Dean cut him off. “Just… save it and can it.”

The journalist remained quiet, observing Dean fully. He looked haggard, his shoulder hunched over while still fighting to maintain a little bit of grace throughout it all.

“You recorded us in my car, this whole time you were just _using_ me…” Dean began.

“I didn’t, Dean, I swear it was Adam or Lucif—”

“Adam and Lucifer didn’t know where we were headed, Cas! I switched the cars without anyone knowing!” Dean’s voice elevated then, his tone authoritative and hurt. “I switched them before I went to pick you up, meaning you were the only one that knew what kind of car we were driving and we were the only ones in that car the entire damn time we were running around Europe!” He lowered his voice, his hand reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Right after I dropped you off after the bar and go to park the car back where it was supposed to be I see this note just… It’s your handwriting, Cas.” He moved to raise his other hand just as Castiel attempted to speak again, the gesture telling him to save it.

“I can’t believe I trusted you, Cas. And I mean _really_ trusted you. I actually was starting to fall harder than I’ve ever been before only to have this all spit back into my face.” He looked Castiel straight in the eye, a cold expression that showed nothing but pain. “I stood up for you, vouched for you when everyone was telling me different. Now my team is in hot water and everyone’s looking at me because it’s my fault.”

Castiel wasn’t sure why he spoke next, but his thoughts tumbled out. “But the articles don’t say it was your fault, Dean. They’re painting all the blame on Ferrari for pushing you to those extremes and messing with the numbers.”

He quickly realized how wrong it was to say that. “What, like that somehow makes it all better? You really don’t get it at all.” Dean’s voice only grew in anger as opposed to lowering. “You think that just because you paint me as the victim that suddenly we’re just going to be fine? That none of the rest of that stuff matters except for that Ferrari’s seen as the devil and I’m just the one stuck in Hell? You know, I thought you liking quotes was cute.” He raised his hands to his face. “Now I don’t even know of one damn thing that you’ve ever said to me that was just you talking or you using someone else’s words to prove a point.”

“N-no, Dean. That’s not what I meant at all,” Castiel attempted to cover weakly. “I didn’t do an—”

“Get out.”

“Dean…”

“I mean it.” Dean cut him off, his eyes red.  “We’re done, Cas. You hear me? Done. Get out before I call security.” He turned around before Castiel could say anything more.

It was over. Dean would not be changing his mind anytime soon.

Castiel felt like the world had just opened up and spit him out, the carefully hidden world Dean and he had worked tirelessly to protect had been blown up by a few recorded lines and accusations against him, enough evidence that made it so whatever part of Dean’s heart Castiel had been in cracked. It was almost ironic actually, how a sport that drove them together could crash them apart just as quickly. This was secrets and conspiracies, only this time, it looked like the false was taken as true.

The closing of Dean’s door that night felt like the end of a life that had only just begun.

 

~

 

Castiel was hounded with questions the following day: Race day. Reporters from rival networks ran towards him in the media center from the moment he had first arrived to check in for the day. He had prepared himself to ask the questions; never did Castiel think he would be on the receiving end of any.

“Are the allegations true?”

“Why did you record Dean and your conversations off track?”

“Is Ferrari truly messing with their computers?”

“What does this mean for the championship?”

“Why were you in a car with Dean Winchester?”

“Are you a spy?”

Question after question came, like stabs in wounds left open from years of battle. It was only when Frank guided him to a room just east of the media center reserved for his network staff did the commotion dived down, the questions only muffled now as he was surrounded by his crew.

“Frank, I didn’t do any of this,” Castiel began once he saw it was the senior journalist that had come to his rescue.

Frank did not respond, instead motioning for Castiel to sit down. “You’re being pulled from broadcast today pending a meeting with Carver Edlund. I’m supposed to read you the riot act and then tell you that you’re meeting with him next race in Germany.” He busied himself with picking up equipment that would help him cover what had since been Castiel’s job since he had arrived. “Monitors are stocked here with a feed and the window that looks over the race. Watch it.”

“Frank,” Castiel moved to stand in front of the other man before he exited the room, the other network crew members already having left as quickly as they could. No one wanted to be around Castiel. “You have to know I didn’t do this.”

Frank only looked at him, his expression sad and defeated. “You know I love a good story, kid, especially one with secrets that people aren’t tellin’, but this one’s hard to just look over.” With that, he was gone.

Castiel had no choice but to sit and stew as the Hungarian Grand Prix went underway, Gabriel’s commentary muffled white noise in the background as he went over his thoughts. If he had a meeting with Carver about all of this in Germany and he could not even convince Dean of the fraud that had been committed, then it was really and truly over. Whatever he had started to build with Dean was shattered, the life and friends he had begun to have in this sport would no longer trust him, and it was very possible he would be blacklisted as a spy or journalist that only wanted a scoop and would go to any lengths to reach it.

His life was over. He would have to find somewhere to live, maybe with Hannah full time until he could get a job at one of the restaurants.

Castiel sighed. He knew he could never do that, not after the last few months of what this world has been like.

The race had exceeded anyone’s expectations given the circumstances, but from what Castiel had feared would mess with Dean’s head only seemed to fuel him against his battles with Adam, Lucifer and Sam battling it out in the back as well. The only time there had been a scare throughout the entire race was when Adam clipped Dean’s inside line and nearly caused him to spin out in the process, both drivers going off track for a brief few seconds before resuming their battle for the win.

 

TEAM: “Watch out for Adam. He’s not pulling punches.”

DEAN: “I see him and believe me, he’s not winning this race if I can help it.”

 

They circled around each other, Adam attempting to pass and overtake for the lead as the race began to draw to a close, but every attempt was thwarted by Dean’s expert skills in blocking. Almost every moment save for that one misstep that nearly resulted in both cars crashing out was enough to send the fans in the stands reeling with excitement and conversation, the news of Ferrari and Dean no doubt spurring forth that conversation. Even Gabriel had to mention it in his commentary, about how the stewards will now be reviewing Ferrari’s data even more and looking into the car and the driver himself. Castiel only prayed that everything checked out for Dean’s own sake. He could lose his job over this instead of what he had originally feared.

Dean won out in the end, his car crossing the finish line nearly two tenths of a second faster than Sam’s car, Adam a car length behind the both of them. The last few laps had Dean and Sam tag teaming Adam after the pit cycle that reshuffled the order a little. Whenever Adam had tried to get in a line in order to advance on Dean, Sam was the one to stop him or close him out. It was not the politest of racing, but this was a sport. Rules only ruled to an extent.

Castiel could not see the podium from where he sat, but Gabriel was the one to do the podium interviews this time, an uncommon occurrance.

“How was the track for you, especially those last few nail biting laps, huh, Dean-o?” Gabriel attempted to keep up his natural charisma as he spoke to the drivers after the anthem’s playing and the champagne and trophies had been given out.

“Track felt good. I felt like I didn’t have anything to worry about, really.” Dean spoke swiftly. “I just shut my brain off and drove. Didn’t realize the race was over until my team told me we’d won, actually.”

“Well, talk about getting in the zone then, huh everyone?” Gabriel played up the crowd. His face grew a little serious then, as serious a face as Gabriel could muster. “Well, then, ‘course we’ve got to talk about some recent news while we’re here, right?” He attempted to smirk. “So… how do you really go a whole race without water like that sometimes? Doesn’t that just kill you?” From Gabriel’s tone of voice, it was clear to even Castiel that he was avoiding the brunt of the underlying questions just so that Dean did not have to give a formal answer in that moment.

“Yeah, in light of recent news I never thought would come out really, I’m going to just politely say there are a few things I need to talk about with my team and my team alone,” Dean answered diplomatically. “Right now, the race was good. The car felt strong, and Sam and I are still in this championship battle. That’s it and that’s all I’m gonna say.”

“So, nothing of a certain reporter then? Or about how he’s _connected_ to you?” Adam’s voice came on over the crowd as he used his own microphone to speak. Even if Castiel could not see him, he could simply tell the expression Adam must have had on his face: devilish victory. The underlying conversations were almost too clear for anyone that knew of Dean’s secrets.

It was a moment before Dean answered, a moment that extended into a lifetime for Castiel.

“Look, you want me to say something, I’ll say something. I’m done talking about it, and I’m done giving quotes.” That was the last thing Castiel heard Dean say before the fans in front of the podium erupted in screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> This picture alone, without the written world, leaves half the story untold-James Lafferty 
> 
> "Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story" – Jandy Nelson 
> 
> This is where I am! This is where I sill stay.” – Tony Blair 
> 
> Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all - Emily Dickinson
> 
> The woods are lovely dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep - Robert Frost
> 
> odi et amo - Latin: "I hate and I love (you)"
> 
> Nature’s first green is gold, it’s hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; but only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf, so Eden sank to grief, so dawn goes down to day, nothing gold can stay - Robert Frost
> 
>  _Cold, late night so long ago_  
>  When I was not so strong you know  
> A pretty man came to me  
> Never seen eyes so blue  
> You know, I could not run away it seemed  
> We'd seen each other in a dream  
> Seemed like he knew me  
> He looked right through me - Heart by Magic Man
> 
> Fun Facts:
> 
> [Instant is a very real place](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zd3aVdQzC38). The room with all of the sheet music is basically the quote room in this chapter :)


	12. Germany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Sam W. (162 points)  
> Dean W. (156 points)  
> Charlie B. (152 points)  
> Lucifer M. (115 points)  
> Kevin T. (114 points)  
> Crowley M. (104 points)  
> Michael S. (75 points)  
> Benny L. (54 points)  
> Balthazar R. (46 points)  
> Gadreel P. (37 points)

Formula One was sometimes referred to as the gentleman’s sport, a sport where fast cars do the talking and the men (and women) that drive them are the knights in armor fighting with their skill instead of their fists. Any other fighting that may occur happens behind closed doors and away from the public eye.

Which was why Dean Winchester punching Adam Milligan in the face atop of the Hungarian Grand Prix podium made worldwide news and remained that way for the following two weeks until Germany.

Those two weeks were filled with questions for Castiel, however, as even more information leaked to further incriminate him. More than Adam had let on to having. He had planted the recording device in Dean’s car enough to catch Dean talking about a variety of subjects about the races and the cars themselves, private information that he should not have been telling Castiel to begin with, that only served to make Castiel look like the spy the media was quickly painting him out to be.

Dean didn’t wait for him in Hungary to continue on to what would have been the last stop on their European escapade. Castiel didn’t expect him to, but the flight over alone, without even Frank to berate him, made him feel like he was even further isolated from the world he had only just begun to know, from a family he had just started to feel a part of.

To make matters worse, the tension only seemed to grow from what Castiel read between Dean and Adam, though Lucifer and Michael were not far behind either. After it was announced that Adam would be partaking in the rest of the scheduled races for this season it only seemed to strengthen the animosity between the two drivers, though in terms of Ferrari tampering with numbers it was determined that points would be taken away from the constructor and not Dean as a driver, meaning that the championship standings would remain as they currently were with Sam leading the championship with 162 points to Dean’s 156. It was still anybody’s championship, however, and though Dean did not punch anyone else in between the two races, that did not mean the track would be as friendly.

Castiel sighed as he awaited his eventual meeting with Carver Edlund, head of Formula One, in Germany. All of the battle, all of these lies, and he was in the center of it all. He was the one thrust into a situation he never thought he would be in, all because he had fallen for a man that he was only meant to interview and observe from a distance. The world hated him, that had to be it.

“Mr. Novak?” A woman came up to him, her blonde hair pulled back to reveal a hesitant smile. “Mr. Edlund would like to see you now.”

It was Saturday of the weekend, just before Qualifying, when Castiel received the call that he was needed in the base headquarters for the German Race in Hockenheim. Carver Edlund travelled to every race on the calendar, he himself overseeing much of race control as workers navigated and gave penalties during races themselves. His presence was felt everywhere, right down to the infographics that appeared on the television screens in the grass, reading, “Carver says don’t drink and drive.” Everyone in the sport at least recognized the name, and with Carver owning the rights to every commercial distribution of the sport in almost every way imaginable, he had the final say in every matter that even remotely included the words “Formula One” anywhere.

As Castiel walked up to the office, he went over what he was going to say to Carver, about how Lucifer had threatened him in the past in Russia and Adam’s threats during the race prior to the news breaking. He was not going to involve his relationships with Dean—he’d rather die and take the blame then be the reason Dean had to come out in distress to the world.

He had never actually seen a picture of what Carver Edlund looked like, but the man that had stood before him when he opened the door to the spacious office area resembled that of a shy college IT senior that Castiel had seen in New York, rather than the head of an entire motor sport racing empire.

“Castiel Novak,” he called, shaking Castiel’s hand nervously. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“N-nice to meet you as well?” Castiel stood speechless. Carver had curly hair and a half-grown unkempt beard, his eyes partially sunken in from what Castiel could only guess was a result of insomnia, and a shy, yet kind face that looked like more of a friend than a head honcho responsible for paying Castiel and buying all of his food and airfare. “I only wish we could have met under different circumstances, Mr. Edlund.”

“Oh please, that’s just a name. Call me Chuck. Chuck Shurley.” Chuck gestured towards the seat in front of a desk. “Have a seat, Castiel.”

The journalist did so without a second word, his entire game plan derailed by how kind and yet nervous Chuck was acting. This was not the behavior he had begun to associate from the stories Dean and Frank had both told him about the man before him. Chuck had stopped entire races from happening, had shut down stadiums and venues, and had nearly boycotted certain drivers from entering races over the years of his reign. He was the one responsible for organizing and forming Formula One into what it as today: a sport, not a side job.

“So, you’ve found yourself in quite the obstacle, huh?” Chuck moved to sit opposite Castiel behind the desk. “But tell me, how have you been?”

“I’m sorry?”

“How has this all been for you, Castiel? From the internship to the flying to the races. I want to hear everything. Don’t worry about Qualifying. We’ve got time.” He seemed genuinely interested.

“...It has been going well, sir,” Castiel blinked. He sighed. “Or rather, it had. When I first came here I was not sure I was going to be able to handle any of this, but you must believe me when I say that the things that have happened were not my doing. None of this was anything of my creation.”

“I don’t want to hear about the now. I know about the now, believe me,” Chuck waves off Castiel’s attempt at stating his case. “I believe what you’re going to say, but I want to know if being here in this world has changed you.”

“Changed me?”

Chuck seemed to hesitate for a moment, his eyes shifting down to his clasped hands. Outside the cars were beginning the Qualifying sessions as a television monitor in the corner tracked the cars’ movements. “I want to know if you’ve learned anything here, if you like it here.” He stopped. “I want to hear about you, where you started before this, and your take on this world. Just plain and simple.”

“… I jumped around between odd jobs and got a scholarship to study in New York. I have school debts higher than the Chrysler Building and I somehow found myself here, living in a world I could never have dreamed of and with friends that I desperately want to keep.” Castiel was honest, revealing more to Chuck than he had anyone except Dean. “If you really want to know if I have changed, I believe I have, in more ways than one.” He quieted. “Which is why this entire ordeal pains me if it means losing my chance to be a part of it.” He didn’t mention Dean, but his thoughts had no audience save his own mind.

“You found a family here,” Chuck murmured, catching Castiel’s attention. “More family than Naomi could have given you in a thousand years.”

 _Naomi?_ How did Chuck know about Naomi?

Chuck held up his hand. “You found something more here than you first thought when you got that letter saying you’d been accepted into the internship. You didn’t know why you were here or why I’d picked you, am I right? You just got on a plane and started a new life, one that you never thought would lead to you feeling whole, like it’s started to with one Dean Winchester. Relax, I know.” He moved to steady Castiel, who at the mention of Dean’s name began to shift uncomfortably. “It’s not a bad thing, Castiel. Love happens whether we are prepared for it or not. It’s a part of life, a part of this world, and you never got the chance to know what that felt like until now.”

“How do you know about any of that, about Naomi and Dean?”

Chuck straightened and let out a breath. He moved to grab something out of the contents of the drawer in the desk. “Well, the second thing was an educated desk after Adam and Lucifer dropped quite a fair amount of pictures on my desk with this entire obstacle we’ve found ourselves with.” He placed a few photographs on the table for Castiel to see. Each one looks like paparazzi stills, all showing Dean and Castiel in some form. Some had Dean staring at Castiel lovingly while Castiel looked away, others were of the two in the car talking as Dean drove down the isolated roads, the countryside blurred except for their faces, both clearly content. Then there were a few of stolen moments in between the drives, when they would settle in a small spot away from crowded areas and share a few kisses. Castiel had not noticed then just how gone he had become on the older Winchester, and judging from the pictures it looked like Dean was not far behind.

Adam had tracked their every move. They had never really been alone at all.

As Castiel gazed at the pictures, Chuck moved to bring out one last photograph, this one considerably older judging from just the yellowing of the edges alone. “And as for the first part… well, I’m not sure how you’ll take it.” He extended his hand to give Castiel the image.

Castiel swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He had begun to piece the small bits of information together, Naomi having mentioned a few things about his birth family that he himself had never truly understood. His mother had died in childbirth, and his father was a widower that had nothing to his name, let alone the ability to care for a child. Naomi had always called Castiel’s father a stubborn man that did not see profit but only passion for something that had no value.

The picture was of a younger version of Chuck himself, in his arms a bundle of towels that cradled a child inside. Even from the weathered image Castiel could see blue eyes and dark brown hair. Just below the image was a sentence scrawled in ink.

 

_No doubt… Endings are hard, but then again, nothing ever really ends, does it?_

 

It was a quote, one Castiel knew well, though he never really knew why.

On the back read “Chuck Shurley, Pontiac, IL” along with a phone number.

“Naomi was supposed to give that to you when you turned eighteen, but she sent it back to me when you were four and disappeared. It took me nearly 20 years to find you again, and when I did, I knew it was going to be a heck of a lot harder to explain to you where I was or why I had to do what I did then it would have been to let you see this world first.”

Castiel remained silent, his eyes traveling down through the image as he saw the only picture he now knew existed of when he was a child. The eyes that stared back at him seemed so innocent, so light, and the man holding him looked haggard and sad. This must have been just before Naomi took him away, before Naomi began to take everything away.

“You’re my father… That’s why I got this internship even though I knew nothing about Formula One,” he whispered.

“Yes, yes, Castiel. I am. And let me say, I’m so proud of you and all that you’ve done here.”

“You left me to Naomi to build this world,” Castiel continued. “You left me alone.”

“I didn’t know where you were. When I finally managed to track down Naomi after all this time she said you’d disappeared off to college using the Novak name. When I figured out what college and saw you then, in a world where you knew so much and yet did not realize it, I just knew I had to show you this way. You weren’t going to believe me otherwise,” Chuck cocked his head almost to ask Castiel that question. Castiel had to admit he most likely would not have believed the man if he had known from the start, but that did not mean this entire scenario still did not baffle him.

“So you made sure I’d see the application. That I’d apply.”

“To be fair to the rest of the world that might have been looking for an internship like that, I made sure you were the only one to apply. All the other applicants were bots that Frank had to dig his way through until my assistant helping him politely gave him your resume.” Chuck chuckled. “It was actually kind of fun to see his face when I gave him your paper, and that way no one know that you were my son.”

“Because otherwise you would be charged with favoritism,” Castiel concluded. It was a logical assumption, and if Castiel had learned anything about this world it was that media revealed information before checking if it was credible. That was how he got himself into this entire situation. “So you believe me?”

“Of course I believe you. Everything’s filmed here, especially the hospitality suites,” Chuck’s face hardened. “I know Adam is a backstabber and I heard the footage of Lucifer threatening you about Dean. Michael’s not far behind in there as well, actually. It’s all recorded.”

Castiel could feel his heart leap almost as high as the cars were loud outside. “So then you will help me fix this? You will expose Adam and Lucifer?” This made perfect sense. Since Chuck had the final say he could fix this and had the proof to discredit the stories. Dean would see what had actually happene—

“I can’t do that, Castiel.”

“W-what? Why not?”

“I can’t let you leave this room happy and free without the world thinking I’ve lost it, or have them finding out you are my son, which let me tell you, would only make matters worse at this point.”

“So, what? I’m gone? Just like that? After everything that you’ve just told me? You’re making me leave?” Castiel could not believe the words.

Chuck moved to assuage the growing fear and anger. “No, no. You will keep your job with Frank. Of course you will, son. But suspension will have to do for now for this race. I have a reputation to uphold as the head of this sport; you must understand that. We will reveal the truth in time to clear your name, but summer break is about to start, and that will help with the situation.”

“Will Dean know? Will you at least tell him?” Castiel’s voice sounded small. He could live with Chuck’s actions revolving the sport. In a small way he understood the consequences of what would happen should it be revealed that Castiel was Chuck’s son. If Chuck was king, Castiel could very well be considered a prince, and if a prince was labeled a spy and revealed as such than it would not matter who Chuck was. He would lose everything he had worked for.

“He will, but not now.” Castiel could see the pain cross his father’s face upon speaking the words. “All secrets are revealed fully when the time comes to them, not before even with the best of intentions.”

“That sounds like a quote.”

Chuck smiled. “You know, in another life I was a writer. I have a feeling that’s where you got your love of quotes from.”

Castiel nodded, his mind overloaded with all the information he had just received. “What is the plan, then? Where do I stand now?” Outside, Castiel vaguely registered that Qualifying had ended, three cars of different colors standing on the blacktop.

“You won’t be able to talk to Dean for a little while, unfortunately, and I will have to ban you from being in the paddock for this race as well. The media will see it as leniency already with just that, but I’ll make a statement that a full investigation is being launched into the matter, therefore any further punishment will be as a result of that investigation. Then and only then will we be able to reveal the truth.”

“That sounds like a lot of steps to see a truth that we already know,” Castiel’s mouth soured.

“It is a necessary evil, one needed for all of us to finish and see this through entirely. Dean will understand better this way, as well.”

Castiel’s heart clenched at the mention of Dean again. _Will he?_ “He means a lot to me,” he whispered.

“I have seen that, and for the record I am happy that you have found someone that can cause you to move mountains in order to make things right.”

“You’re not angry? About Dean and me?”

“Why would I be? Love is love. And when love drives you faster than these cars outside then you know you’ve got something real on your hands.” Chuck smiled genuinely, no longer as nervous as he was when they first began speaking. “Castiel… you can take on any name that you like, but let me tell you, I am proud of my son.”

Castiel did not know what to say or do. He sat motionless in the chair as the roar of fans outside deadened with the post-Qualifying interviews taking place. He vaguely heard Sam speaking.

“There will be some people outside that will take you back to the hotel room you’re staying at. It’s just for show, though, so don’t take any offense. Pictures may be taken, but it’s what we have to do to make sure the information is given out when it needs to be.” Chuck followed and motioned for Castiel to stand. Wordlessly, Castiel followed Chuck to the door. “I hope that we can be friends.”

“Forgive me if this takes a while for me to get used to.”

“Of course. I didn’t think you’d just up and start calling me ‘Dad’ anyway. I had no expectations about how you’d take this because let me tell you, this was not how I expected to tell you the truth.”

“I respect those that tell me the truth, no matter how hard it is,” Castiel responded.

Chuck only nodded and patted his son on the shoulder. Once the door was opened Castiel had to put up a front, his father not far behind. He watched as Chuck’s face morphed from one of optimism and caring to closed-off and silent as the view revealed the two men that would escort Castiel out. The show was on.

Castiel was escorted by the men at hand, leaving Chuck at the steps that led to his office. Once he had made it outside, his eyes caught some of the monitors displaying the qualification results. Sam had managed to grab pole position, Dean qualifying fourth behind Adam. The news did not serve to assuage Castiel’s growing fear that something was on the brink of happening.

The media were relentless once Castiel exited the building, each paddock pass reporter attempting to ask the same questions they had in Hungary. Castiel only remained silent, a tip he had since learned from drivers that did not want to reveal anything they would regret. It was odd, just how much he had become to be a part of this world in a separate way.

The two men that escorted him to the hotel stood guard outside his room, their job now fulfilled in transport. It was only then that Castiel truly realized what this meant for his work, what he had been doing for the better half of the last few months.

He wasn’t at the track, and he couldn’t leave his hotel. This would be the first race he would watch as a true spectator, feeding off the information that was aired only with no other way to keep an eye on the cars that he wanted except for when the on-site director put them on screen.

Despite Chuck’s words, Castiel attempted to call Dean that night. Unsurprisingly, the call went straight to voicemail.

 

~

 

“It’s round twelve of the Formula One season here in beautiful Germany as we kick off the final race before the summer break!” Gabriel sounded even more chipper on the television screen than he did whenever his voice fed through Castiel’s headphones. The aforementioned piece of equipment was not too far away sitting on the desk closest to the bed, but Castiel would not need them to watch a race on his television set this time. He barely slept to begin with, but the night between Qualifying’s events and the day’s race proved to be even more restless than usual.

“I’m joined today by Mr. Senior himself, Frank Devereaux as our man on the ground, but tell me, Frank, what have you got on the stats for the drivers and the track?”

“Well, Gabriel, I’m here to cut it to you straight,” Frank’s face appeared on the monitor as he began walking down the grid where the cars were already lined up and ready for takeoff, their drivers not too far behind. This was the portion of the race where engineers were doing last minute evaluations and the racing stewards went over for last minute checks and regulations on the cars. Meanwhile, the grid was filled with celebrities, chief staff, and the “Grid girls” that held up the signs denoting where each racer was located on the grid. Castiel briefly caught Dean’s number 67 towards the front in the second row, Adam’s 19 not far behind, the numbers being the numbers on their cars. “Like any race we’ve got the hotshots in front in Ferrari, though this time we’ve got both Red Bull and Mercedes not pulling their punches either, and with this one being Mercedes’s constructor home race it’s even more important that Milligan get a win if he can get it out of the cold dead hands of either Winchester. Those two have been at odds nearly the entire time since their little scuffle in Hungary, but we’ll see how that translates on track. As for Morningstar, I bet he’ll wait it out and find an opening. Farther back we have Tran and Bradbury followed by Lafitte and Seraph, so expect the start to be the real reason we’re all here today.”

“That Winchester incident being the events of what happened on the podium in Hungary,” Gabriel clarified for the casual viewer that might be tuning in. “Following some comments that Adam Milligan made towards a recent story that had developed, the winner of the Hungarian Grand Prix proceeded to let his actions do the talking, but like you said old buddy ol’ pal Frank, looks like this race will be one for the books. Thanks for the update.”

Pre-Race continued the same way until the cars began making their way for the formation lap, the remaining people bolting it to the paddock in order to clear the start/finish straight. Castiel had never hated commercials more than in that moment, however, as the broadcast cut in the meanwhile.

It was a short commercial at least, for when the broadcast returned the cars were just pulling up to their final starting grid spots. Castiel caught shots of both red Ferraris mixed in with the cocktail that was Red Bull’s blue, red and black and Mercedes’s silver and teal.

“And it’s lights out once more and away we go—it’s a great start for Dean Winchester in the Ferrari and also Adam Milligan and Lucifer Morningstar! And into the first corner in the lead are the two Ferrari men getting away as well—Milligan ahead of Morningstar is ahead of Michael is ahead of Tran is ahead of Bradbury—and an appalling start from good ol’ Balthy who’s now in the latter half of the points paying positions—and how will Milligan get past Winchester going into turn two and—look! Look at Benny Lafitte as he steams down the inside line to keep the Turner Renault under control!

“Onwards now down towards the hairpin Sam Winchester is losing ground to Adam Milligan as Dean Winchester remains in the lead by a hair’s pin! Get it, folks? _Hair’s pin—_ barring jokes aside we don’t have time for that now!” Gabriel sped through commentary as fast as the cars on the track went, this time seemingly twice as fast as if the stakes were higher.

The cameras would switch almost just as quickly as Gabriel spoke, each new angle only adding to the battle that was the mad dashes of Grand Prix starts. Castiel almost felt dizzy at the sight. This was nothing like he was used to watching. Instead of one view, he got seemingly thousands. How the directors calling these shots in race control did it, he would have to ask Chuck.

“We’re on board with Milligan now,” Gabriel spoke as the camera switched to an onboard camera placed just atop the engine cooler of Adam’s silver car. “And he’s chasing down the slipstream that Winchester is creating just in front of him. Oh I can only imagine what the younger Winchester is saying in his headset to his team right now! It’s another Ferrari vs Mercedes battle as Adam manages to get out a decent amount of space out of the turns and he is now wheel to wheel with Sam Winchester’s flaming prancing moose—I mean, horse!”

Sam ended up getting forced to the outside line, allowing for Adam to retake a position and begin his advancement towards Dean’s car in the lead. Castiel gulped, the pit in his stomach only growing. Dean would do anything to stop Adam from getting in first, and likewise he was certain Adam would stop at nothing to make sure Dean was out of this race altogether.

Laps went on, mile after mile as the 67 laps allotted for the race winded down. After a while, team radios began to appear on screen as Gabriel quieted down and allowed for the race to speak for itself.

 

TEAM: “Pushing hard now. Push hard now.”

DEAN: “Don’t gotta tell me twice!”

 

Dean’s car zoomed as quick as it could.

 

TEAM: “The stewards are warning you to allow for room for the other driver even if you are racing, Adam. We want to keep the car in good condition.”

ADAM: “Can you tell them I’ll do it if Winchester does.”

 

TEAM: “Watch your tires, you are using up too much gas.”

DEAN: “Shut up, I know how to drive!”

 

“Whew, we’ve got quite the fire brewing inside Ferrari, don’t we,” Gabriel added once the string of radio transmissions ended. Meanwhile on the track, Dean and Adam pitted at the same time and emerged with fresh tires and quicker cars.

The race only continued speeding up, each turn cut with more speed and harder braking. It was undoubtedly hurting the cars at this point, even Castiel could tell, as tires began showing more signs of lockups in the battle for first place. Dean and Adam’s cars had detached from the rest of the cars in the race of their own, though Castiel now felt like the battle was no longer for the win, rather for something else.

Castiel hated not knowing what was going on everywhere. He could not believe how viewing on a TV set versus being there made such a difference. Yes, he learned a fair amount more while watching the race with Gabriel’s commentary than he would have otherwise, but the world seemed so much more real down there in the paddock with the adrenaline rushing through him. Even as a reporter, Castiel had felt a sense of being alive he had not realized was absent now.

Worlds collide, and sometimes they evolve.

Castiel watched with rapt attention as the race crossed the halfway mark.

“Milligan and Winchester have just not let up on each other—they are neck and neck as they turn their way down into and out of the hairpin—OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT!”

It happened in slow motion, or at least, Castiel felt like that moment stretched on into an eternity.

Both Adam and Dean’s cars barreled down one of the faster parts of the circuit, speeds in excess of over 200 miles per hours when it happened. They were moving towards the sharp turn that was the hairpin, the best line to make the turn being the inside in order to get the upper hand on the other turn leading out of the hairpin. Normally, one would break to slow down, but neither refused to slow down enough to safely clear it with two cars side by side. Dean had the line. He was the car in between Adam and the closest part of the inside track when Adam’s car tagged one of Dean’s tires, the wing scraping enough to cut it.

Dean’s car spun almost instantly, his front colliding with Adam’s until both cars zoomed out of the hairpin and crashed into the wall of the following straight. Dean’s car instantly ignited, Adam’s not far behind. Both cars rolled to a stop when they bumped into the opposite end of the track.

Instantly, a red flag graphic went up, a signal to all drivers to stop racing; the race itself was halted entirely as medical personnel and stewards alike ran towards the cars on fire. Neither Dean nor Adam had made it out yet.

It was hellfire, plain and simple.

Unlike Australia, however, Castiel could not just up and bolt out of the room. He was stranded, unable to help. The most he could do was watch the horror in front of him as the flames only seemed to burn into his mind.

Dean’s mother died in a fire. That must have been why he looked so hesitant about it. Now he was trapped in one.

He didn’t remember breaking the hotel door, but he did remember the two security men subduing him. He didn’t remember cursing or punching, but he did remember feeling the brunt of the ground.

“Oh man, oh man, ladies and gentlemen. Crews are still trying to pull these two out, but that fire is over 800 degrees and they are both trap—it looks like we have movement! Who is it? It’s-it’s Winchester! He’s being carried out of the fire by one of the marshals on site! And there’s Milligan not far behind! The fire is being controlled, I repeat, the fire is being controlled!” Even Gabriel’s voice did not carry the bravado that came with speaking so quickly. Instead it sounded like a man that could do nothing more than report the facts.

Castiel watched Dean’s body on the screen, the men surrounding him to carry him and Adam alike into medical cars that would take them to the medical helicopter. From what Castiel could see, he wasn’t moving.

 

~

 

Races had to proceed despite the crash and the resulting debris of the cars and the fire. The safety car almost ended up finishing the race in the end after everything, both Dean and Adam’s cars craned over and away from the track once both had been airlifted to the hospital. Lucifer ended up getting the title for Red Bull, Sam finishing in second with Crowley making a sudden comeback in the last few laps to overtake Kevin for third. The podium was subdued, however. Sam didn’t even make an appearance. Castiel couldn’t blame him. He would do the same thing if security let him.

“We have just received word from the hospital that both Dean Winchester and Adam are in critical condition and are in the ICU. Sam Winchester was briefed after the race on the state of his brother while Crowley was given information on Adam, which is why Sam has opted to leave immediately for the hospital. I suppose that, with the summer break now upon us, we will see what happens,” Gabriel’s voice was subdued, his words a weight with every letter. Castiel’s throat was dry as he watched, both security guards now on the inside of the room to make sure he did not attempt to escape through the windows as he had been told he attempted to do already.

Dean was hurt. Dean was hurt in both body and mind and Castiel couldn’t do anything about it to help. He was stuck here while Dean was in a hospital bed fighting for his life.

 

~

 

The world was an empty place without someone to spend it with.

The world was an empty place when the person you loved hated you.

The world was an empty place without Dean Winchester.

A month went by like a snail in this sport, but it went even slower when there was no news to help Castiel’s aching heart. He fought tooth and nail against Chuck’s words to find out which hospital Dean had been placed in nearby.

“I can’t tell you that, Castiel.”

“Chuck, I don’t care about the rumors and I don’t care about my image right now. I need to see him. I need to know where he is.” He’d told his father once he had managed to slip away from his security detail that had slowly grown in the days between the crash and the present. “Don’t you dare stop me.”

Chuck shook his head. “I won’t stop you, but the hospital staff might, not to mention the reporters that are also asking the same questions about where Dean or Adam are and their conditions.”

“You know because they tell you,” Castiel spat. “Chuck, if what you said to me a few days ago is true then you’ll tell me where he is, or so help me I will fight tooth and nail to find him myself.”

Chuck sensed the threat, even if it posed no exact harm to him himself. He could sense how serious Castiel was, how broken his heart had become. “It’s a hospital near the circuit, but I’m warning you, Castiel. Sam will be the first person that will stop you and most likely punch you in the face.” He handed Castiel a note with an address. Castiel was gone before Chuck could say anything more.

He waited a few days before he went to the hospital, relying on news reports to tell him if Dean was awake or coherent. So far, however, stories had remained tight lipped. Summer break had started and it was exactly that—a break. There would be no news, not even important, monumental news, unless it was to announce a death. He prayed to whomever was listening that he wouldn’t hear anything.

The hospital smelled medicinal, though in that moment it felt more dizzying than helpful like it once meant to Castiel. When he had been studying medicine he had found hospitals comforting. Now he only sees them as a place people go to die, the fire from the crash still imprinted into his mind.

“I’m looking for Dean Page?” Castiel turned to the nurses, confident that Sam would choose any rock alias like Dean and he had been using whenever they registered at hotels.

“One moment please,” the nurse spoke in a thick accent, her interests clearly not concerning a high-profile patient’s notoriety if she did not recognize Castiel. “He is still in the ICU, therefore if you are not family I cannot—”

“Please ma’am, he is family to me.” Castiel pleaded. He knew he could lie his way in and say he was Sam himself or a third brother and the woman wouldn’t be the wiser, but he didn’t have it in his heart to lie in that way. Why lie when the truth was there?

The nurse regarded him then, as if she only then recognized his face. Castiel didn’t care in that moment. He needed to see Dean.

“Room 607, but I am told his brother is there right now.”

Castiel only nodded, accepting the directions and making his way towards the Intensive Care Unit. If Sam was who was there, then all the better. He needed to speak with the both of them.

Security was his first obstacle, however, though Castiel was no stranger to how they battled now. Billie spotted him first.

“What are you doing here, Castiel?” she called, her eyes narrowed.

“I need to see him.”

“Clearly. That is not going to happen.”

He felt a rise overcome him, like a natural born soldier take over as Billie stared him down. Dean was on the other side. There was no way Castiel was going to stop, even if it cost him a broken bone or two. That was how Sam ultimately found him: bruised on one side and in the process of blocking one of Billie’s punches.

“Enough!” he yelled for both to cease, causing Billie to get the upper hand and pin Castiel’s arms behind his back. His shoulders screamed in protest. “Let him go, Billie.”

“He was attempting to get in, Samuel,” Billie countered.

“Cas, will you agree to not throw a punch of Billie gets off of you?” Sam directed back at Castiel. Even he could tell that Sam was tired, bags evident under his eyes.

“I agree.”

“Good. Billie. Lay off. I don’t have time to deal with this.”

Castiel felt the pressure behind his back lighten as Billie’s weight rose, his shoulder blades clicking back into place from where Billie had nearly popped them out. He rubbed them idly. “Sam.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” the other man crossed his arms and stood in front of the door.

“You don’t have to say anything. Just listen.” Castiel breathed, still catching his breath. “I didn’t record or release those tapes.”

“And what makes you think I’ll believe that?”

“Because Chuck has proof.”

“Chuck?” Sam’s brain worked. “Carver? That Chuck?”

“Yes,” Castiel swallowed. “He’s—he’s my father, Sam.”

Sam only stared at him, shock appearing briefly before a shadow passed once more. “You drop something like that and just expect me to believe it?”

“Frankly speaking, no I don’t.” Castiel walked towards Sam. “Because I didn’t either until he showed me this.” He pulled out the photograph Chuck had given him. Sam took it to inspect, his mouth frowning. “I’m not lying, Sam. Chuck has proof against Adam and Lucifer’s leaks but he hasn’t released it yet to protect Dean right now, and with what’s happened it was most likely for the better.”

Sam studied the image and flipped the polaroid over. He did not speak for a few minutes as his mind most likely worked out some sort of explanation other than what Castiel had said. “Dean’s not going to believe you. Hell, I’m not sure I still do even with this.”

“He doesn’t have to believe me right now. I just need to see him, Sam. How is he? Is he awake?” Castiel’s voice cracked. He had not realized the fatigue of the last few nights had caught up to him as well with worrying over the entire mess his life had become.

Sam looked into Castiel’s eyes, his expression softening slightly. “…You love him, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“… Yes. Yes, I do.”

Sam’s jaw moved. He looked toward the door that led to Dean’s room on the other side, every movement silent until he nodded once. “He woke up about an hour ago, but he’s in and out. He doesn’t remember the crash, but he’s hurt badly. Worse than anything he’s been through before.”

“Is he awake now?”

“He heard Billie talking earlier, yeah, but Cas,” Sam moved to place a hand on Castiel’s chest as the journalist moved towards the door. “He doesn’t want to see you right now.”

“Of course he doesn’t. He thinks I lied to him.”

“It’s not just that. He thinks you killed any chance he had at trust, at any sort of life.” Sam lowered his head, effectively turning into the little brother Castiel had only seen but not truly understood until that moment. “I’d never seen him so broken than when we read the news or when they showed him the recordings. I still don’t trust you completely, don’t get that twisted, but not even the best actor could fake the look you just had about Dean’s wellbeing.” He moved out of the way.

“Thank you, Sam. I hope you find it in your heart to trust me once again. I understand it is difficult right now, but I promise you if this is my fault—If Dean pushed himself too hard—” Castiel was not one to cry or sob at a memory, but the mere idea that Dean was now driving to get away from him like he had when his mother died and his father pushed him broke his heart into even more pieces than it already was. He felt a tear roll down his cheek in the process. Sam remained silent.

“I can’t promise you anything, but this is gonna hurt more, Cas. Going into that room, you may not like it.”

“I don’t care. I’ve risked too much to lose any of this now. I don’t want to lose this now.” With that, Castiel stepped towards the door and turned the handle slowly, his heart on the verge of an explosion he was not sure he could handle.

Monitor beeping greeted him as he entered, one sole window shut tight being the only indication that an outside world existed beyond the antiseptic and faint smell of charcoal that encompassed the room.

A man laid on the bed, his head turned towards the window while the rest of his body was covered by a blanket. The small bit of flesh that Castiel could see was a deep crimson, however, one that traveled up towards the length of where Dean’s helmet once rested on his head. The fire protection suit had taken care of a lot, enough that he did not seem to have any sort of disfigurement. Just burns; a lot of burns and whatever number of broken bones that lied beneath the skin.

“No one asked for you to be here,” a gruff voice croaked at the sound of Castiel’s footsteps. “No one asked for you to show up at all.”

“No one asked me to come. No one asked me to show up,” Castiel responded, each step like a mile that stood between them. “I came because I needed to talk to you.”

“Bullshit.” Dean’s body was racked with coughs then, the monitors around him speeding up almost instantaneously. He still had yet to look Castiel in the eye.

“Dean—”

“You’re gonna make me go through this again, asshole? I’m sick of your excuses and your lies, and I sure as hell don’t want to see your fucking face right now!” Dean all but screamed at the window he was staring at, but every word was directed only to Castiel. “I need to get better to get back out there, not listen to some spy that messed with me enough to get me to fuck up this badly.”

“Carver has proof that this was all fake, Dean. You need to know that.”

“If he had proof he would’ve released it, not kept it to himself! I don’t want to hear any of this, Castiel. And I heard you talking to Sam outside. Chuck’s your dad? BULLSHIT—” A fit of coughing erupted after as the machines began beeping erratically. “He—he shouldn’t have let you come in here, and like hell I’m gonna believe what you say right now. Until Carver Edlund himself comes out and calls you son I’m not listening to jack shit.”

Castiel didn’t say anything. What could he say? Sam had been right. Dean would not listen to him in this state. Castiel was only hurting his health by being here.

“I’m sorry this happened, Dean,” he whispered once the machines died down. Outside he could hear Sam assuring doctors to wait a few more minutes before they came in making sure Dean wasn’t actually dying. “You need to heal, and me being here is not helping.”

Dean still had yet to look at him, but at the sound of Castiel’s last words he grunted enough to turn his head. It was then that Castiel saw how red and scarred portions of his lower body were, a deep wound also apparent on his head that still had dried blood most likely cauterized by the fire itself.

“So let me heal, Cas. Let me go.”

 

~

 

One month.

Summer break would report nothing, a time for fans and drivers alike to rest and recuperate for the final few laps on the race calendar. It was supposed to be a time for reporters to return to their homes with presents or stories galore as their jobs took a vacation.

For Castiel it was hell with no key to get out, the demon locking him in being time itself.

“I read some of the articles, but I had no idea, Castiel,” Hannah put a hand on his shoulder. Castiel was back in New York for the summer, Chuck having come by the hotel just before he left to inform him that he would be able to begin reporting again once the race calendar picked up in Belgium at the end of August. They were in Castiel’s small apartment, a hole in the wall of a place near enough to campus that Castiel did not require a car, not that New York City was the most car friendly of places to begin with.

“I haven’t heard anything since I left the hospital that day.” He looked towards his friend, at the one person he has been able to send images and messages to that was out of this fast-paced world he’d found himself in. Hannah was his last image of what his life once used to be, but coming back to it now only felt like the sky was darker, the grass devoid of green.

“I can’t believe how fast this has happened for you.” It was clear Hannah had a difficult time wrapping her head around all that Castiel had told her, about the truth and about how he felt about Dean. “Castiel, you and the mere concept of love were never even in the same realm before you left.”

“Because I never thought that was an option I was able to have, given how well my life had gone up until that point,” Castiel spoke evenly. “And now…” He stared at his hands, his mind elsewhere back in Europe to when Dean had been testing the car’s limits and taken Castiel’s hand in his own as he moved the gears of the car. Castiel had felt the power a vehicle could have under the strength of a professional that loved to do his job, but to think that the very idea of driving nearly took all of that away almost instantly sickened him. His hands had long since gone cold, but to think they may never feel the strong hands of the one that had guided him again is what killed him the most.

“You said Chuck would reveal the story, though, right?” Hannah asked gently. “What if he’s waiting for Dean to heal over the month? What if he doesn’t want people hounding him about the story in order to let him heal peacefully?”

“That would be wise, in a way, but wise and kind have not always been friends.”

“Castiel, I know it is difficult for you, even if I may not understand the world you have found yourself in,” Hannah commented. “But if Chuck is your father and has created this empire around a sport you have only had a few months’ of experience with, would it not be best to put faith in him?”

Castiel pondered the thought. He looked out the one window of his apartment, the view being nothing short of brick wall as the adjacent building towered over where he was. Everything in New York was grid like, structured. He’d lived that way his entire life, fate and preplanning having been instilled in him. It was only after he had managed to escape Naomi’s grasp that he was able to have any semblance of choice, and now he could choose to have faith.

Chuck had yet to do anything wrong to him in his adult life. He had his reasons for withholding the information that Castiel understood enough to agree with, especially considering Hannah’s input as well.

“Faith… Choice… Free Will; when you add all of those together you would think it would lead to an answer,” he mumbled, his mind recalling a memory of Dean on top of him in the ice rink, eyes dazzled and breath cold. Had it been faith that had put them together? Had it been choice? Dean had chosen him, but others’ choices drove them apart. Free Will was the only factor that refused to partake in the battle.

Even with Hannah by his side throughout the month, helping him tend to his forgotten home and catch him up on the college life and his professors, it was the loneliest Castiel had ever felt in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> No doubt… Endings are hard, but then again, nothing ever really ends, does it?- Chuck Shurley 
> 
> I respect those that tell me the truth, no matter how hard it is - Unknown 
> 
>  
> 
> Fun Facts:
> 
> A lot of really great F1 drivers are from Germany, including 7-time world champion Michael Schumacher, the driver of which Dean's car and helmet are based off of (he was known for red on red when he was at Ferrari)
> 
> The massive crash that happened in this race is based off the infamous crash that nearly cost Niki Lauda his life. The movie Rush is based off his life, so if you want to see a very good recreation of it [you can find it here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8F5BaQ6a6Jw). Also sidenote: Chris Hemsworth is in that movie as James Hunt. Some things Dean does is also based off James Hunt.


	13. Belgium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Sam W. (180 points)  
> Charlie B. (162 points)  
> Dean W. (156 points)  
> Lucifer M. (140 points)  
> Kevin T. (126 points)  
> Crowley M. (119 points)  
> Michael S. (75 points)  
> Benny L. (58 points)  
> Balthazar R. (48 points)  
> Gadreel P. (43 points)

The news broke when Castiel made it to the track in Spa for the day of the race, the entire weekend going the same way Germany had, at first. The month in between had done nothing but set him on edge; insomnia that had begun to ebb lately now returned with a vengeance.

“—I only made sure to tell Carver Edlund myself that the intern reporter he helped hire was stealing trade secrets by screwing the top driver and leaking them to the other teams. I told him about how you came on to him and probably drugged him while you two have been parading around Europe like idiots. Honestly, Castiel. Did you not think one of us wouldn’t see you?” Adam’s entire tirade against Castiel had been leaked by an anonymous reporter. The evidence was enough to allow for Chuck to issue a statement concerning the rumors.

“It appears Castiel Novak was placed in a situation he had no hand in, the entire story fabricated by Mercedes driver Adam Milligan. Though the FiA can only do so much in way of penalizing him, since he is not racing in this race due to previously sustained injuries, this matter will be noted for the following race.” Gabriel read through Chuck’s statement live on air as some cars rolled down the track to test their laps. “So then, Castiel, our reinstated man on the ground, what have you got to say?”

A button on the camera on Kelvin’s shoulder lit up quickly after Gabriel finished speaking, Castiel now keenly aware that the next few words he would say would be heard by millions of people tuning in.

“I will choose to not comment in detail on the matter, Gabriel,” he responded. “But I will say that I am thankful that I am here once more.”

“Well, I think I can speak for all of us when I say we owe you a lollipop,” Gabriel cooed. Even Frank rolled his eyes from where Castiel could see him behind the camera. Castiel only offered a small smile, the camera beeping off soon after.

“Alright, fifteen minutes of fame are up, Novak,” Frank grumbled. He pushed forward as the cars behind roared to life to start their formation lap. “You got a call.”

“A call?” Castiel echoed. Who would call him? Hannah?

“Don’t go throwing words back at me, kid.” Despite the bite, Frank’s eyes showed how sorry he truly was upon learning the news. “Yes, a call. Apparently, Carver talked to Winchester before he made the statement, and now you’re wanted in the hospitality suites.”

_Apparently, Carver talked to Winchester…_

Castiel was gone before Frank could tell him which way to go.

He made his way through the back roads of the paddock, the frenzy and echo of the crowd focused on the track instead of behind the scenes for now. It allowed for Castiel to slip by undetected, even if he managed to find himself face to face with Billie at the end.

“He’s waiting for you,” she spoke quickly. Her eyes, however, betrayed her. “Get gone before I change my mind.”

The journalist only grinned at Billie. “I am glad that we are of like minds today.”

“Don’t make me give you something to regret, Castiel.” She all but pushed him inside before closing the door.

Driver hospitality suites were bare bones on the track themselves, though Ferrari paid no expense on the matter, much less for a driver that was recovering from a serious accident. No photos or additional information had been released in the time between Dean’s fiery crash and the present, but when Castiel found one Dean Winchester sitting on a bed as opposed to lying in it he all but immediately went to embrace the man for not dying. Just across from the bed sat a television screen, the race projected on the starting grid.

“Dean…” he began. “You look better.”

The green-eyed man turned at the sound, Castiel’s frame tentatively stepping in full view to let him know that there was no threat.

“Hey, Cas.” His voice sounded small, defeated. “Glad you made it.”

“There are a lot of things to be glad about right now, the first being that you seem to be able to turn your head without grunting.”

Instinctively, Dean’s hand went to touch the back of his neck at the mention, his fingers briefly running through the small part of his hair in the process. “PT really helps with all that, let me tell you.” He stopped and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were trained on Castiel’s body. “We need to talk.”

“I’m told that is not always the best way to word things,” Castiel remarked, a conversation of old suddenly jumping into his head. He moved to sit on the small red leather chair just next to where Dean sat on the bed.

“You don’t have to sit there. Bed’s big enough for two.” Dean cut in. “And… I’m not exactly supposed to be raising my voice all that much so it’s easier to talk when you’re closer.”

Castiel observed Dean fully then. He was dressed in Ferrari regalia, though not his driving suit. A red jacket sat in his lap as if he had just taken it off, though black sweatpants embezzled with the prancing horse and red socks betrayed that he had anywhere to be save for this very room. His shirt was the only piece of clothing that did not have anything outwardly stating Ferrari, though it would not surprise Castiel if it was still somehow connected. He briefly caught a small scar that had started to disappear down Dean’s neck, flesh that was still recovering from some of the worse burns.

“You’re still hurt much more deeply than you let on,” he noted. Dean was nice enough not to argue with him on the matter as he made his way to sit next to the other man. In the background, Gabriel’s muffled voice had just signaled the start of the 44 laps that marked the Belgian Grand Prix.

“Sammy’s out there for the both of us today,” Dean commented once Castiel had situated himself. The bed dipped as Dean readjusted his torso. “He’s fighting for points for him and the team as the only rep.”

“You don’t really want to talk about the sport right now, Dean,” Castiel prodded. “But Sam will do well here.” His times this weekend had been good, and the lack of Adam’s presence undoubtedly helped.

Dean nodded, his hands moving to pick at the edge of his sweatpants. “Doc said I really went and done it this time. Broke way too much to somehow still be sitting here right now.”

“You most likely punctured a lung as well, if your labored breathing and the abundance of tubes indicated anything when I saw you last.”

“Hm,” Dean hummed. “Adam’s no better. His bones just snapped, and he’s missing half an eyebrow. He’s out in the silver camp, though.”

“And to think they cannot penalize him,” Castiel scoffed. “It’s absurd.”

“It’s racing, Cas.” Dean craned his neck to look at Castiel. “They can’t do much for things that happen off the track, but when drivers are out of races entirely it’s sometimes just taken as God’s karma and left at that.”

“This world only continues to baffle me.”

“Try this world being your life sometime. You’ll have a ball,” Dean brushed his shoulder against Castiel’s own, an intimate gesture. When he seemed to realize what he had done Dean lowered his head. “I owe you such a big apology.”

“No you don’t, Dean.”

“Carver—or Chuck, I guess—came to see me while I was in the hospital. He told me about you, showed me this picture of baby you and him. I didn’t even let you explain, Cas. I was an ass.” Dean’s words mixed together with themselves the more he spoke, each one harder to say than the last. “I didn’t wanna believe him even though I knew it was true. And then when the news broke…I should’ve trusted you more to at least give you a chance to friggin’ talk. You deserved that.” He stopped. “You deserved a lot of things.”

It pains to see loved ones hurt, but it nearly killed Castiel to watch Dean apologize in that moment. Gone was the man that had made a life out of driving one of the fastest cars in the world: in its place sat a small boy that did not know how to continue moving forward with the weight of the world on his shoulders. The cars continued racing in the background, their sounds heard clearly from outside the room.

“I understand your pain.” Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, part of his heart rising at how Dean leaned in. “But this is my fault for causing this.”

“How the hell it is your fault?” Dean’s eyes were labelled with shock as he slowly sunk into Castiel’s shoulder, his head finding the crook of Castiel’s neck before he moved to meet blue eyes. “I’m the screw up here.”

“I should have checked the car for a bug. I should have been more careful while you were driving. I shouldn’t have caused you to drive to the point where you could have lost your life.”

Dean scoffed. “I guess part of what I said in the hospital must have made you think that way.” He chided himself. “I fucked up, Cas, not you. Don’t you dare go about thinking any of this was your fault. You have every right to be mad at me.” Despite his words, Dean moved to rest his head on the headboard behind the both of them as he folded into Castiel.

“Why must you think I have to be angry at you?” Castiel countered. “Why do you think forgiveness and pain are related?”

Dean remained silent for a while, allowing for both to hear that Balthazar and Charlie were currently fighting for the top positions, Sam trailing in the middle of the pack towards ninth.

“Need you,” he heard Dean murmur. Castiel had never seen him so vulnerable before.

“Does this make you uncomfortable?” he asked instead, only now just realizing how close they had somehow found themselves despite their troubles, Dean all but folded into him as his arm crossed over Dean’s shoulders..

“No. Just, will you stay to watch the race with me?”

“Of course,” Castiel shifted to allow more room for Dean to move freely. He had not expected this to happen. He should stop expecting anything to happen, really.

The movement allowed for him to see just how scarred some of Dean’s skin was in the areas that his suit had not covered fully, the fire almost alive under his skin where it brushed against Castiel’s own. “I wish I could heal you,” he confessed.

“You are, in your own way.”

“I wish I hadn’t hurt you.”

“You didn’t, Cas. Adam’s car did.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I hurt you, just not in the same way.”

Dean stayed quiet. “I should’ve heard your side of the story. I should’ve listened to my gut, but let’s agree to disagree, okay?” Castiel felt it then, that same hand come to entwine itself. It was an anchor, a weight. Dean squeezed slightly, nothing more to be said.

“Okay.” They remained silent as the race neared the end, laps dwindling to a point where it was clear Sam would not be in a high position to garner many points.

“Poor Winchester now trailing in seventh place after a miss-timed pit stop,” Gabriel had been saying. “Looks like all that great work he’d been putting in won’t get him the position he was looking for this weekend.”

“Despite that, something must be said for Balthazar and Gadreel for running their way to be in the top five of the drivers,” Frank’s voice came over the intercom.

“Frank! Good to hear from you! Where’s our paddock pal, I wonder?” Gabriel’s voice seemed equally as thrilled as it was laden with a hidden meaning. “Did he have a love affair to sort out?” he joked.

Castiel felt Dean stiffen beside him at the remark. He had almost forgotten: in the entire month, Adam had refrained from leaking the pictures or any hint at Dean’s sexuality. One issue may be over for now, with Adam to be dealt with for his actions, but there were still Lucifer’s threats and Michael’s lurking that no doubt now had evidence from Adam’s pictures to back him up. Dean was still in the closet. To out him on top of all of this could only spell even further trouble, couldn’t it?

“It was a joke, Dean. Gabriel doesn’t know,” he attempted to calm the older Winchester, but the seed had been sowed.

“Can we... can we table that for another day? My head’s starting to hurt.” He moved away from Castiel’s shoulder almost as quickly as he spoke, one hand reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose. Castiel chose to honor Dean’s wishes when Dean dropped Castiel’s hand.

On screen, Balthazar celebrated yet another unprecedented win, Kevin and Crowley rounding out the podium.


	14. Singapore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Sam W. (186 points)  
> Charlie B. (174 points)  
> Dean W. (156 points)  
> Kevin T. (144 points)  
> Lucifer M. (142 points)  
> Crowley M. (134 points)  
> Michael S. (83 points)  
> Benny L. (59 points)  
> Gadreel P. (53 points)  
> Balthazar R. (52 points)

After spending a fair amount of time in Europe, even with the month-long summer, a fly away race felt like a nice break from the high-speed circuits that Europe possessed. Singapore was considered the slowest of the circuits due to the amount of winding turns and sprints that it was fashioned out of, but that did not stop the cars from going nearly 190 mph.

From the minute Castiel touched down in the country, he could feel that this race would be stickier than most others, due to the humidity the region brewed.

“Cars are gonna be glued to the ground in this weather,” Frank commented on their first day. Castiel had been handling the equipment when Frank spoke. Their conversations had not returned to where they first had been, but Frank had managed to speak a little more to him since he found out the news. Castiel did still catch him wrangling his hands, however. He must feel guilty for not believing Castiel, but no matter how many times the junior journalist had told Frank that it was alright, it would take time before Frank was back to his stubborn self.

“And it’ll turn dark while the race happens,” Castiel added. He hooked up his microphone at the start of Qualifying for the day. “But the cars so far have seemed to run well, give or take a few that have gone off track.”

“It’s always the Harvelle team that does that. I swear you turn the lights down and Ash and Garth just drive like they’ve never seen a road before!” Frank grumbled. Castiel couldn’t help but offer a smile.

“Charlie and Kevin have seemed to fall into similar issues here as well, though I’m sure they will race well tomorrow.”

“You have a lot more faith in people than I do, kid.”

“Faith does not make things easy, but it makes them possible.”

“Yeah, okay Bible verse. Go get in position.” Frank waved him off, but even Castiel could tell that he had cracked through the façade. Maybe Frank was back entirely after all.

“How’s our man on the ground down there?” Gabriel’s voice filtered through Castiel’s headphones. He made sure to turn his microphone on.

“Currently wondering how these drivers are not sweating through all of the layers they have on,” he spoke through the mic. No camera was on him at the moment, all the action directed on the track as the first round of Qualifying went under way.

“I’m with you on that, old buck-o! Even if it’s round fourteen on the calendar I’m so happy I’m sitting here in air conditioning and not out there, but someone’s gotta do the job,” Castiel could hear the sarcasm Gabriel laid onto his words, his showmanship side bright for all to see. “We’ve got a great start to Qualifying here even if the humidity is higher than Sam Winchester is tall. And speaking of the Winchester brothers, this is the first race back for the senior Ferrari driver after the horrendous events of the German Grand Prix where Adam and he collided brutally.”

The camera switched as if on cue to Dean sitting in his car, helmet on and poised to roll out for a quick lap. Though his face was not visible, his body posture indicated a small sense of discomfort. Castiel didn’t blame him. The cars were nearly hardcoded to a driver’s exact body if something was out of place even slightly, it would not be a smooth way to drive for a few minutes, let alone the two hours that he would have to endure when the race actually did start. Adam was still not back from recovery, though in fairness Dean had been too stubborn to rest, his entire mind apparently having gone straight to rehabilitation throughout that month and two weeks since the accident.

“Though the medical unit on site has cleared him, it’ll be interesting to see how he fairs here, with another day to night race on a street circuit. You’re gonna need all your strength in order to push through all these winding turns in the middle of the city.”

The first round of Qualifying went similarly to how it had run in the past races: the smaller teams unable to improve their times against those teams with deeper pockets and quicker cars. As the sessions wore on, the usual suspects made it to the final top ten that would be determined in Q3, though Dean’s car barely managed to get over the edge of Zachariah’s car to steal the last remaining spot in the top ten before Q2’s time expired and no further lap times counted. Zachariah’s final qualification spot thus became 11th while Dean went on to fight for pole position alongside his brother, Charlie, Lucifer, Balthazar, Kevin, Michael, Crowley, Benny, and Mick.

“Twelve minutes to play now for these drivers to duke it out! So far we’ve got the youngest Winchester and Michael Seraph on the field getting their laps in.” Gabriel always sounded exasperated toward the end of Qualifying. “But looks like all other cars are still in the pits waiting for those last three minutes to really kick it into high gear.”

His prediction had rung true for most other drivers, the action slowing down in the middle of the final section. It gave Castiel a window to see how the sport played for the teams however. Those interim minutes were not spent idle.

In the Red Bull and Toro Rosso garages, engineers ran from one end of the garage to another as telemetry and other important stats on the car were calculated and numbers were crunched. Meanwhile, the teams’ respective drivers would sit in the car, a monitor having been placed in front of them so that they too could see the data that ultimately made much more sense to them then it likely ever would Castiel. Across from the garages on pit lane were the main control units for each respective team, attached to the start finish straight, entire command stations built up and retrofitted for each unique team garage. Normally, the team principles that would communicate directly with the drivers would man the station: eight different monitors displaying any and all information ranging from car data to local weather forecasts that updated almost every second.

Castiel had not truly come to terms with just how high-tech this sport was, but watching the organism that was the people working in this industry brought that idea to life, every moving part a mechanism of speed, every changing moment an opportunity to improve.

This was Formula One at its heart, a sport where nothing stayed the same and yet everything was timeless.

“—Two minutes and twenty seconds to play now and it’s like a green light’s lit up in the garage!” The voice snapped Castiel out of his thoughts almost as quickly as car engines began revving, their respective drivers each exiting the pit lane for one last final flying lap. Both Ferraris were amongst the crowd now, though even Castiel could tell Dean was going slower than normal. His last lap had only managed to qualify fifth before he’d gone back to wait out the rest of the time in the garage.

“We’ve got some magic traffic here now, folks! Lucifer is still trying to get the upper hand and beat out that small window Sam left for him in the third sector, meanwhile Balthazar and Kevin are still trying to break into the next second barrier that the leaders already shattered towards the beginning of this session! Oh, and our poor Dean doesn’t look like he’s going for a fast lap right now. Cars are whizzing by him faster than angel wings.” Gabriel paused on the commentary. “Say, Cassie down there, how has the activity been over on Dean’s side of the garage?”

“From what I have seen both drivers’ teams have been working diligently for their cars and for Ferrari as a whole,” Castiel spoke into the microphone attached to his headphones. “I do not think the issue with Dean’s times is related to the car,” he confessed. That was a valid statement that, made by any other journalist, would have breezed by the commentator he had been talking to, but Gabriel was Gabriel.

“Well, I’m sure you’d be one to know, wouldn’t you?” He teased, no malice in any form evident in his voice. “Or maybe he’s just tired from something else?” The underlying question was carefully wrapped for only Castiel to notice, though he coughed at the words.

“H-he is still undoubtedly recovering from his injuries, Gabriel. I’m sure it is that.” He refused to say anything more. _Did Gabriel know something now, too?_

“Oh, of course, Cassie! That’s what I was referring to!” The other man then proceeded to continue on his one-man conversation as if that had been his plan all along. Castiel stared off into space as he went over the events of the last few minutes. _Had_ that been Gabriel’s plan? Maybe he had just been reading too much into situations.

“And there’s the checkered flag as the session ends and cars start posting their final times! There goes Morningstar to the line—and OH LOOK AT THAT TIME—that’ll be hard to beat for the Ferrari that is still finishing up his flying lap—And it looks like Tran and Seraph manage to improve their times only a few spots, but Sam is pulling purple sectors this way and that as he nears the final turns. Will he beat Lucifer folks? Will he do it? Tune in next week!” Gabriel abruptly halted. “I’M JUST KIDDING AND LOOK AT SAM WINCHESTER MAKE IT INTO THE POLE POSITION! Just three tenths of a second separate the red Ferrari and the energy drink of a car in Red Bull to finish out our front row! And it looks like Dean Winchester will be starting in sixth for this race, beating Tran’s time enough to advance up a wee bit higher than he had before.”

Castiel watched as Dean’s Ferrari came into pit lane, his car joining the others that had not made it in the top three positions. Though the cameras that were broadcasting the footage to the world were not trained on Dean in that moment, Castiel was still able to see from his vantage point. It looked like Dean had trouble exiting his car, his movement all the most slower compared to how other drivers had all but jumped out, suits sticking to their bodies from the heat.

“He shouldn’t be driving,” he murmured to himself. They were on good terms now, albeit somewhat confusing ones in way of the way they had been going prior to Adam’s stunt in Hungary. He was allowed to feel worried, right? Even if Dean seemed even more concerned about the world finding out his sexuality.

He decided he was allowed, even if Dean’s increasing paranoia since Gabriel’s comments in the race prior had made things difficult for them.

 

~

 

With the session drawing to a close along with the opening of the night, it was possible to walk the track on the way back to the hotel, lights illuminating the circuit from where the barriers had been placed, the track repainted to get rid of the normal street signs and lanes that otherwise would accompany a road in Singapore.

He had stayed behind longer than usual in an attempt to try to see Dean after the crowds had parted. Everyone had their own units, though Dean had mentioned they were staying in the same hotel. He did not want to risk being seen together, however.

Because the track was separated from the streets and cars since it was a race weekend, the streets were empty as Castiel walked, the humid air bearable at night.

“Hey, wait up!” a voice called behind him. Castiel paused, recognizing the drawl of Sam’s voice as footfalls echoed off the ground.

“Hello, Sam. Congratulations on pole position.”

“Thanks. It’s takes a lot here because the cars feel heavier, so it’s a good win.” Sam slowed to walk beside the journalist, no hint of red on him as he wore a simple flannel shirt and comfortable jeans. Castiel quickly realized Sam knew the way a lot better than he did, therefore he fell back to let Sam lead the way. “How you holding up?”

“Fair. People have stopped asking as many questions,” Castiel lied. There was no use in troubling Sam with the information. “But should it not be wise for you to be seen with me so out in the open?”

Sam scoffed. “Not nearly as much as Dean thinks it is, and not to scare you or anything, but people wouldn’t be talking as much if someone did happen to see us walking to the same hotel as they would if Dean was with you.”

Castiel paused. “Why?”

Sam didn’t miss a beat. “Not for nothing, Cas, but even fans have started guessing there’s at least _something_ going on, in the least that you two are best friends.” He waved an arm as they passed through one of the chicanes. “But I swear I’m not saying that to scare you. It’s just something Charlie and I have noticed, even before Dean’s crash.”

“Do you think people would freak out like Dean thinks?”

At that Sam remained silent for a few minutes. “Honestly, with how the world’s changing lately it might actually be good timing, but… he’s not had the best time growing up, as you know. I think part of him is still scarred by that.” He didn’t elaborate, therefore Castiel refocused instead.

“How is Dean?”

“Good, good,” Sam paused. “Sorry, not good. Quick reaction since everyone’s been asking me.”

“I’m sorry, of course you would have been asked a lot.”

Sam waved his hands. “No, it’s fine. Of course you’d ask. I was actually waiting.” His face grew serious, the night only serving to cast even more shadows across his features, aging him in mere moments. “He’s not sleeping as much as he should with the accident. He really did break shit this time and got a lot of burns, went into shock so fast he couldn’t think to get out of the damn burning car…” His eyes looked down towards the track. “I saw the flags first, but I didn’t think it had been Dean until I passed by the fire. When they told me over the radio…” He dropped off.

“Seeing a loved one in any state of distress would be difficult, Sam,” Castiel attempted to comfort. “The entire world nearly watched him die.”

“He shouldn’t have raced. Everything about the accusations with you and punching Adam only made the team crack down on him more, but you and I both know Dean.”

“Racing is his escape,” they both said in unison. Sam laughed at their words, a sad smile finding its way on his face.

“But sometimes even an escape can lead to another wall,” Castiel noted. “Pain changes people, it makes them trust less, overthink more, and shut people out.”

“Poetic.”

“Thank you.”

They rounded another portion of the track, lights having been placed just outside the limits, illuminating the vast colors and detail that went into changing city streets into one way circuits. Castiel had been inspecting the ground when Sam spoke again.

“I want to tell you something.”

“If it is another apology, you have no need to.”

“No—well yeah, that—but this is about Dean,” Sam breathed. “The only time I’ve seen Dean smile lately has been when he’s skirting security and walking the streets with you, and even before when I heard him calling you at all hours when he can’t sleep. You make him laugh in a way I haven’t heard him laugh in years.” Sam’s words were enough for Castiel to feel his face begin to heat up. Even at night he was certain the younger Winchester would be able to tell he was blushing.

If Sam saw anything, he didn’t comment. Instead he continued. “You’re good for him, Cas.”

“I do not believe that is tru—“

“Oh, buzz off,” Sam throws a playful punch to Castiel’s shoulder. “I’ve known about Dean my whole life. He had this whole Han Solo phase while we were still karting that went way beyond a simple fan crush, believe me.” Sam’s face softened then. “He looks at you the same way I look at Jess, or at least, the way I’ve been told I look.”

“Jess?”

“Jessica Moore. My girlfriend. She’s in Austin right now, but we met when I went to Palo Alto on a research trip. You’d love her.” Sam looked like he was in another world, suddenly all of the age that had come with talking about Dean’s condition became nearly nonexistent as he spoke about his girlfriend. The air around him suddenly felt lighter, like clouds. Castiel wondered if that was the same look Sam had been talking about Dean wearing when Castiel and he were together.

He returned the smile. “I would love to meet her, if possible. She sounds like an amazing woman.”

“She really is,” Sam trailed off, his mind remembering something. “It’s just Dean that’s freaked about the rest of the world knowing, about you and him, I mean. I just hope he can get his head out of his ass and use his words for once.”

“That is… I don’t want to push him to do that.” Castiel hesitated, briefly caught off guard by Sam’s sudden return to an earlier point.

“No, and of course I wouldn’t either, but what I mean to say is that I’m sorry about what Adam and Lucifer made me think. It was wrong, and you’ve been there through a lot for him already. I can see just how much he wants to take you out to places and have what he wants. He just needs to see that he actually can at least try that.”

They were nearly upon the hotel, each man aware that though it looked like they had not been photographed in their walk, going into the hotel at the same time would likely not be the most ideal situation.

“Well, Sam.” Castiel turned to him before they parted ways. “I hope that he does try.”

“What would you do, if he did? If you don’t mind me asking?”

It was a question Castiel had entertained briefly at different times. If Dean truly did decide to come out then it would likely mean Castiel would have to do something about his job. “I think I would have to speak with Chuck, but I do think I would most likely resign from being a journalist.”

Sam seemed to accept the answer. “For the record, a lot of former journalists end up coming back in some way or another, so maybe you’d still be able to keep your job.”

“Possibly, but if it came down to choosing…” Castiel looked up at the other man, his mind just now noticing that Sam’s eyes were a dark shade of hazel in the light. “That look you said that you have with Jess, how she makes you feel? I feel that as well, and I don’t want to ever give that up.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself to me. I saw it in the hospital firsthand,” Sam pointed out. “But you go catch some sleep. I’m sure Dean’ll probably call you at some point before the race.”

“You get sleep as well, Sam. Good luck.”

 

~

 

“I cannot believe this, folks! Dean Winchester has somehow managed to get past all of the other cars to grab _first place_ here in beautiful Singapore!” If Gabriel could scream louder, Castiel was sure even Hannah would be able to hear him from New York. The race had been a monumental 180 from how Qualifying went, no cars managing to crash out and the day bleeding into night.

Sam and Dean managed to push for a few seconds of a lead in the last few laps when Sam began to slow down, his speed though not immediate, allowing for Dean to inch ahead in the last few laps. A casual fan would most likely not spot the difference given how fast the cars are regardless, but Castiel knew Sam gave the race to Dean. He’d driven like a pro despite the labored breathing that had come over the radio transmissions from time to time. When Dean did finally make it to the podium to receive his trophy and take part in the champagne celebration alongside his brother, however, it was clear why he drove to Castiel.

Dean looked alive, even with Lucifer casting a shadow from 3rd place. He radiated happiness, only the smallest of movement indicating that there was any pain or discomfort.

 _Pain can make people hate, make them hurt or close themselves off, can lead to vulnerability,_ he thought to himself as he watched Dean speak above him, a smile on his face. _Vulnerability is scary, but pure. In it you can find bravery._

Dean was the bravest man Castiel had ever met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> Faith does not make things easy, but it makes them possible. - Luke 1:37 
> 
> Pain changes people, it makes them trust less, overthink more, and shut people out. – Unknown 
> 
> Vulnerability is scary, but pure. In it you can find bravery. - Raquel Franco


	15. Malaysia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Sam W. (204 points)  
> Charlie B. (186 points)  
> Dean W. (181 points)  
> Lucifer M. (157 points)  
> Kevin T. (150 points)  
> Crowley M. (136 points)  
> Michael S. (87 points)  
> Gadreel P. (63 points)  
> Benny L. (60 points)  
> Balthazar R. (60 points)

“Ah yes, the circuit that looks like a Pac-Man mouth.”

“Dean, I’m sure that’s not—oh.” Castiel peered over to where Dean’s phone was on the table, one hand currently helping Dean have resistance while doing push-ups. The next race on the calendar was located in Malaysia, and sure enough, the Sepang International Circuit took up the screen. “You and I have very distinct definitions of what Pac-Man looks like. It looks more like a puzzle piece.” They were in a small room in the aforementioned country in the middle of the weekend, Dean having asked Castiel to help him with physical therapy after the last practice sessions had him severely more tired than he should have been.

“Shut up,” Dean grunted, shoulders shaking.

“Is it too painful?” Castiel adjusted the weight he had been pressing against Dean’s back as Dean attempted to do push-ups. It was one of the smaller parts of the strict physical therapy the Ferrari medical doctor had prescribed for him since the accident, something that Dean had apparently slacked on doing in the month of summer break despite his stubbornness.

“It’s fine.” Dean screwed his eyes shut as his posture broke. He’d gotten through a fair number of sets, enough to where he was no longer coughing in the way he had when he’d started. “Tomorrow is gonna be worse than Singapore if I don’t do it, two weeks or not.”

“Thank you for taking my advice to at least attempt to stretch your muscles before the race, by the way.”

“At this rate I’m gonna be thanking you for helping me win the race in Singapore then.” Dean lowered his body onto the ground, shoulders falling almost instantly. He was spent.

“I believe you have Sam to thank for that one,” Castiel moved to rub against Dean’s shoulders, careful to not press too deep into where the scars were still a little raw.

Dean hummed, his chest expanding as he controlled his breaths. Castiel could feel his shoulders relaxing during the rest phase. “‘Feels good,” the older Winchester murmured.

“You need to stretch your muscles well if you wish for the soreness to fade and your lungs to get better.”

“They are better. Loads better…Remind me again why you didn’t stick with med school?” Dean sounded as if he was in a trance.

“You also talk too much,” Castiel pushed Dean over so that he was laying on his back, the bottom of his shirt riding up just enough to expose skin. He had been a little surprised when Dean had asked him to help in his physical therapy during one of their late-night conversations, though he knew Dean would not be having him come to the care center to help, due to the obvious risk that would be. Having passed through the first stage and actually entering the building had been one thing, but now that Dean and he were alone, Castiel was all the more conscious of his actions. Every push and pull of his hands on Dean’s back had caused sparks to travel throughout his entire body.

For his part, Dean seemed to share in the spark; even his hair gave the illusion that it was electrified. He breathed evenly as Castiel subsided his messages.

“Okay, harder stuff now.” Dean only looked at the ceiling, his expression evident that he abhorred the concept of PT. “I hate this.”

“As you’ve told me every time we have stopped,” Castiel offered a small laugh, his hand extending for Dean to take. Dean took it and squeezed before Castiel moved to place his hands on Dean’s feet. The doctor had said Dean’s lungs had been slightly burned from the flames, therefore a lot of breathing exercising and massaging of the chest was needed in order for both the lungs and outer skin to heal. That, on top of Dean’s usual regimen of exercise, would allow him maintain the form needed for a driver, and he had been healing considerably better in the last few weeks than during the summer month.

Despite his protests, Dean began his sit-ups slowly, his body moving up, elbows meeting his knees, and then falling back down. He quickly fell into the routine, but not before Castiel shifted so that his head was just above his knees. The door to the room had been locked as a precaution, therefore Castiel indulged in the idea of privacy before his brain caught up to him.

“You need to get farther than that,” he goaded. Dean took the hint quickly, extending his reach so that he only had to crane his neck to meet Castiel’s lips. The kisses were small and quick, growing longer with every rep, but it was enough incentive for Dean to push through the mud. They never lasted too long, however, even after Dean finished a set and stayed up near Castiel’s face. He would always end it abruptly if it got heated. Castiel didn’t push him, his own thoughts returning to their situation. Just because he was in the clear did not mean Dean was comfortable out in semi-public places yet. If Lucifer or Adam had somehow gotten a picture of them in Dean’s car in the middle of nowhere, then there was no telling where else they could be.

Their first kiss since the crash had been small as well, happening in between the two races when Billie had managed to sneak Castiel into the room one night. They had been short, but full of meaning, each one since a promise in and of itself the more they returned to each other. More often than not, however, it would be Dean that ended them.

“Dean.” Castiel moved to place his hands atop of Dean’s knees, the touch, though not entirely unfamiliar at this point, still new in an intimate way.

“I know, I know,” Dean looked down, green eyes dimmed. “I’m just… it’s in my head, is all.” He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself more than convince Castiel.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Castiel asked. He wanted to say, _Do you want to talk about why you think people will see you differently if they knew? Do you want to talk about Adam and Lucifer? Do you want to talk about us?_ But he would never push, not with Dean. Dean had asked for time.

“No.”

“Okay.”

“I’m still sore.”

“You should try yoga then.”

“Oh no way in _hell_ am I sitting on my ass trying to stretch in ways people weren’t meant to stretch.”

“Not even if I taught you?”

“…Sam put you up to this didn’t he.”

Castiel laughed at Dean’s grunting acceptance. He could feel his heart only add to that whenever Dean and he spoke, a love blooming that he had never once thought possible.

Time was what Dean needed… well, time was time.

 

~

 

“Make sure to talk to the pit lane and crew members if you get the chance.” Frank looked toward his computer. “Right now the pit cycle is about to start, so just get out there and look and talk.”

The Malaysian Grand Prix was well under way, cars roaring down the winding turns to half-filled stadiums. According to Gabriel, the race here had not been selling nearly as well as it had in Singapore nearby, therefore the affectionately nicknamed Pac-Man circuit that Dean seems to see might be gone very soon.

Castiel watched from the second floor that rested just above where the cars could be seen. He saw Kevin’s Toro Rosso zoom by, changing tires in less than 3 seconds, Sam’s team somehow managing to change tires in nearly less than 2. It was already well known that the cars were lightning fast, but the pit crew that took care of them had to be the lightning to their thunder. Castiel briefly wondered how long they trained for such high speed moments.

The pit cycle depended on strategy, therefore drivers would attempt to keep their tires and cars in the best condition possible in order to not lose time while going into the pits and risk losing their position.

When Lucifer’s car came in, he had roughly ten seconds between his second place and Dean’s third place, meaning if the crew messed up and took longer than the other, Dean could take Lucifer’s spot in the process. This exact exchange is what ultimately occurred.

“Oh and we have a problem with Lucifer’s rear tire!” Gabriel called from his vantage point. “Looks like the tire didn’t go in all the way like it was supposed to. Well, guess Lucifer’s not pregnant, but it’s enough for the red Ferrari of Dean Winchester to breeze by him and chase down Charlie for the lead!”

Lucifer’s was clearly outraged at his team, his fist banging on the car with enough force to cause some of them to jump. _He must rule with an iron fist,_ Castiel thought. Lucifer ended up rejoining the track in third, Sam just behind him and with enough momentum to overtake him in just a few laps afterwards. Meanwhile, Dean caught up to Charlie as they encountered debris from Garth’s crashed car with only a few laps to go.

“Charlie has an issue with her wing, it looks like,” Frank spoke over Castiel’s radio. “So we’ve got Dean, Sam, and then Lucifer at the front for now.”

Sure enough, Charlie began dropping quickly, her radio chiming that something had caught in her wing but she could still finish. She now trailed in fourth.

“To our man on the ground, what do you see down there?” Gabriel interrupted Frank’s information.

“The pits are quiet for now, but Lucifer’s team will most definitely be hearing some sort of rebuttal coming their way. The driver was not happy that his pit stop took as long as it did.”

“Oh yes sir-ee!” Gabriel added. “Did you see how he slammed his hand down on the car’s front? It might be enough for him to gain on Sam, however.” He spoke just as the cameras on the livestream revealed Sam and Lucifer’s cars, Lucifer gaining on Sam through the drag reduction system zones. Sam attempted to stop him and regain his line in order to stay ahead, but as the race began to draw to a close it was Dean that managed to win and grab the 25 points for the driver’s championship, Lucifer’s Red Bull overtaking Sam in the last two corners and down the straight to claim the second spot.

 

There was still no set rule or punishment regarding Adam’s leaking of the information to the media and framing Castiel or any punishment regarding the crash in Germany, but that did not stop other reporters from asking similarly worded questions to the drivers involved.

Castiel was in the bullpen, the area where drivers gave interviews to different news outlets after Qualifying or races, when Dean was asked such questions.

The senior Ferrari driver was still cautious, something to be expected, but after the previous race Dean had already partaken in, it appeared that he had once more found himself at ease when answering the easier questions about how he placed or how the car felt. Castiel only watched him, however. Despite Frank’s pushing for him to do so, he has refused to ask Dean questions specifically regarding Adam or the crash. Other reporters, however, did not care in the same way.

“Can you tell us what you think happened at the crash in Germany?” A British reporter piped up from beside where Castiel stood, her microphone all but thrown into Dean’s face.

“I can tell you it hurt. A lot.” Dean cracked a joke. The reporters around Castiel either laughed or chuckled hesitantly. In the media world, that was not an answer or scoop they had been looking for.

“Well then, could you tell us anything regarding the news of Adam Milligan leaking recorded tapes that had you speaking ill of your team and the repercussions that it has caused?” The woman next to Castiel continued. He frowned at the question.

Dean mirrored his frown, his eyes briefly catching Castiel’s in a silent plea for help. Castiel could feel eyes turn to him as well, some only just realizing he was also there and a very big part of the story no one had all the details to.

“There is yet any official word regarding those allegations,” a voice chimed in from the back of the pack. When Castiel turned, he saw none other than Frank standing behind the cameras that were trained on Dean, his expression smug. “The stewards will have to meet with him to determine the best course of action,” he added. His eyes narrowed in on the British reporter in challenge.

“What they said. I can’t comment any more than that,” Dean concluded, relief clear on his face.

The other reporter seemed dejected at the news, answer nowhere near what she was looking for. It was only then that she seemed to realize a very important piece of the story was standing next to her, her eyes finding Castiel in shock. “Bela Talbot,” she moved to raise her microphone. “What do you think of the allegations now that your name is cleared? Actually, why was it that you were on those tapes to begin with? Why are you connected?” Her eyebrows arched as if she had just realized something crucial.

Castiel stiffened. “It is up to Carver Edlund and the stewards on what punishment Mr. Milligan will receive in terms of his racing. That is all I have to say on the matter and that is all others have told you as well, Ms. Talbot.” He echoed, Frank’s words.

Bela didn’t relent. “Why were the two of you recorded exchanging sensitive information like that if Castiel was not going to release it then? Just for kicks? Or is there something…else?”

“No comment,” both Dean and Castiel spoke simultaneously, enough to garner another round of hesitant laughter from the spectators that the other journalists became. Green eyes only blinked at blue after the simultaneous exchange, but not before Dean ended the interviews and turned away and into the circle, his face suspiciously looking a darker shade of red. Castiel could feel his own face creeping up as well. _That had been close…_

Sam had been right. People were starting to have other ideas.

“That one’s a hard ball,” Frank moved to grab the microphone from Castiel’s hand when he had exited the throng of reporters and journalists that only turned to look at him as he left. “But she asks the hard questions you don’t seem to want to.”

“Can you blame me, Frank? I do not wish to know about news that concerns lies made against me,” Castiel snapped, his tone curt but not disrespectful.

Frank clearly did not believe him, but he at least did not push the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts:
> 
> Malaysia has the Petronus Towers and were considered the home race for Mercedes AMG Petronus, Metatron and Crowley's team and constructor.
> 
>  
> 
> [Malaysia kinda does have a pac man sequel mouth track](http://www.spannerhead.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/Malaysian_GP_Sepang.jpg)


	16. Japan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Sam W. (219 points)  
> Dean W. (206 points)  
> Charlie B. (198 points)  
> Lucifer M. (175 points)  
> Kevin T. (154 points)  
> Crowley M. (146 points)  
> Michael S. (89 points)  
> Gadreel P. (69 points)  
> Benny L. (68 points)  
> Balthazar R. (61 points)

The jet lag that came with arriving in Japan was entirely too insane even by Castiel’s insomnia standards. Even he had a difficult time moving about and keeping up with time cards and when the practice session and Qualifying had been, accidentally missing the first half of qualifying in the process on Saturday. When he did arrive, however, his body stiffened at the sight of yet another silver Mercedes out on the track.

Adam was racing again. Where it took Dean roughly a month to recover it took Adam more than two months completely, the rainy season in full effect in Japan as leaves had already started to fall across the northern hemisphere. Castiel took great care in avoiding asking Adam any questions, though it was revealed that the only amount of punishment Adam would sustain would be a financial one, his absence in the last few races deemed enough time away as punishment for having caused the crash that had incapacitated Dean and him. The financial punishment was for leaking the information.

At least Adam looked like he did not wish to talk to Castiel either and due to his poor qualification, he also did not encounter Dean anywhere outside of the track itself. The journalist was grateful for that. It would mean Dean would not attempt to punch Adam again.

Japan had torrential rain, the weather forecasts lighting up the entire weekend leading up to the Grand Prix finale on Sunday. Castiel had seen races in the rain, how the drivers still did not seem to care that the conditions were now less than ideal. Some favored it, like Dean and Garth, but others only spun out if the line was not dry enough, tires unable to grip to the wet ground. What he had seen had been a little rain, but tolerable.

Japan had a typhoon on the horizon.

The earlier storms had already impacted the weekend, but what would have been the start of the Grand Prix on Sunday was a beast Castiel had never seen before. Rain pelted the track and those unfortunate enough to be sitting in the middle of it a few minutes’ time enough for the entire body to be soaked through. Inches were only continuing to pile up in the pit lane, all personnel that was not used to the sudden change in a heightened state of panic. The veterans, including Frank, however, did not bat an eye.

“They can’t possibly race in this, Frank,” was the first sentence Castiel said when he finally managed to make it into the covered areas of the paddock that day. Frank looked unfazed, the cars already making their way to the grid spots where engineers would look them over one last time.

“They will.” Frank prepared a microphone, a cord extended for Castiel to take. “They’ll pull a red flag if the drivers can’t handle it.”

“If they can’t _handle_ it?” Castiel parroted. “The news reports have a typhoon just a few miles from the circuit, Frank.”

“This ain’t my first rodeo, kid, but I get that it’s yours, so I’ll let this sudden panic slide.”

Frank disappeared shortly after, having instructed Castiel to watch from the monitors if he truly did not want to go outside. Castiel couldn’t believe his ears. The water on the track was already reaching the sides of the Formula One cars and the rain did not look like it was letting up. “These conditions aren’t safe,” he muttered to himself. It was then that he caught sight of the two red Ferrari cars stationed on the front row, Dean and Sam having qualified first and second respectively just the day before. They, at least, would not have the spray of other cars to worry about, but one of them would once the race got under way. Both Winchesters couldn’t be first.

Both Winchesters could spin out or crash today.

Sam and Dean could die.

The typhoon was slowly inching its merry way to the Suzuka Circuit, but it was moving too fast for Castiel’s sanity. There were buckets of rain, too much rain.

The cars were leaving for their formation lap. On the monitor just above him, Gabriel was announcing that the start of the race was in mere minutes. Thunder echoed around them.

“No,” Castiel made up his mind just as Lucifer’s car began to spin out in the first turn. From the way the other cars were avoiding breaks, it very much looked like every driver would spin out at some point. He was about to turn before he saw the indication on the monitor above him.

 

RED FLAG: RAIN DELAY.

 

Castiel sighed in relief, his anxiety only slightly assuaged. Delay for rain did not mean the race itself was cancelled, but it was enough to see if the rain would dissipate slightly.

“Given how almost every car has spun out in some fashion during that formation lap, there is red flag in effect that is halting the race until we see just a little bit of sun up in that sky,” Gabriel updated the casual viewer at home that may not be familiar with the sport’s lingo. “Given how all the drivers had a meeting with Carver just before the race began and voted to race, I’m willing to bet none are too happy with the flag right now.”

Castiel paused. The drivers met with Chuck? They chose to race in this?

Sam and Dean _chose_ to race in this?

Half an hour passed with the flag, the drivers taking the time to double check the rain parameters on the cars and the tires. Garth and Ash took to flopping on the ground making rain angels, however, a trick that the audience at least appreciated as a way of entertainment.

The rain, however, did not seem amused. It only continued to barrel down. Castiel watched helplessly. They weren’t going to race, right? The track was too dangerous. They had to cancel the race. Did Formula One do that? What would happen—

“We have just received word that the race will be starting back up with a safety car in ten minutes,” Gabriel cut through Castiel’s string of thoughts. “This race is a go, despite whoever decided to turn the sprinklers up there likely saying otherwise.”

Castiel had a difficult time seeing the start/finish straight in front of him as the cars returned to their grid spots. “There’s no way they will be able to finish in this. What is Chuck thinking?”

 _He isn’t thinking, Chuck has an empire to run. He doesn’t care about the people that he’s sending off into battle,_ he thought bitterly. In another state of mind, he likely would have felt guilty for thinking so ill of his father, but given how he had handled the previous situation with Adam, Castiel would not put it past him to think of the ticket sales than the drivers. He made up his mind.

Getting up to the control room where Chuck was should have been harder than it actually was. He expected security, patrolling services, key card identification like he had encountered in the past, but this time it almost felt as if Chuck was expecting someone to come in and file a complaint. The thought did not sit well with Castiel.

He did not bother knocking on the door. “Chuck, what are you thinking?” Castiel called the minute he saw that Chuck was in the room, the other engineers and stewards too wrapped up in their headphones and radio data information to notice the intrusion. All except Chuck.

“Outside, first door on your left, please?” Chuck called upon hearing and recognizing his son. “Not here,” he rushed, pushing Castiel back out the door before the journalist had even had a chance to fully make it inside. Once they were in a separate closed door just outside the control room, Chuck locked the door and sighed.

“You’re angry.”

“The conditions aren’t safe. Even I can see that!” Castiel started. “Lucifer and Raphael spun out before they barely made the first turn, and Sam and Dean will get caught up in the spray of the other cars eventually. _Why?_ ”

“Why what, Castiel?” Chuck did not look like the mild mannered man that had told him he was Castiel’s father. Instead the man before Castiel was none other than the God of the sport and all that he touched.

“Why is the race happening with a typhoon just hours from landfall?” Castiel challenged. He would not just sit back and watch his father send drivers to their deaths if he could help it. Dean was still recovering, even if he was cleared fully and had no residual pain. And Sam was not as well versed in wets as Dean had proved to be.

“Because it’s racing, Castiel. They’re professionals. They’ll be fine.”

“They’ll be _fine?”_ Castiel could not believe his ears. “The rain is more than a few inches.”

“They agreed to race and did not argue. And I will not have my authority be questioned, do you hear me?” Chuck lowered his voice, his frame nowhere near matching the power behind his words. “I understand that you feel for the drivers, I do. Believe me, I feel for them as well, but they voted to drive, Cas. I did not make them, even if the blame will ultimately fall on me.”

His words were powerful, the tone one of finality. Castiel only looked down, but not out of shame. He was angry, angrier and more scared than he had ever been, even at Dean’s crash. “Someone could die.”

“And that someone could be Sam or Dean, is this what I am getting?” Chuck’s voice seemed to soften at the mention of the Winchesters’ names. “I like them, too, you know. Perfect character studies of family, but they will be fine, Castiel. I can’t guarantee it, but I promise you if I truly think these guys can’t handle what’s out there then I’ll call for the red flag and end the race as the positions are at the time, okay? But it was their decision to race and a lot has gone in to host the event. I can’t just cancel the race and then have the rain suddenly stop or something else happen that could result in thousands of people losing the opportunity to watch the sport and the drivers do what they do best.”

“I’m not a child. I understand the gravity of the situation,” Castiel fought back. “But… I also do not enjoy watching my friends partake in reckless behavior like driving in a typhoon at over two hundred miles an hour.”

“Well then, that’s only the tip of the iceberg.” Chuck would not look him in the eye, instead offering that he would call once the race was over. “I need to get back. You just try to watch the race.”

Watching it proved horrible. Cars hydroplaned on the water and into the grass or gravel traps almost every lap once the safety car that led them had retreated and they could fully race. Harry and Ketch nearly collided into each other as both spun out on one of the turns, and Lucifer and Raphael end up sealing their fate and hydroplaning out entirely, Lucifer almost running headfirst into the service vehicle that had been picking up Ketch’s car on the side of the track. The car was totaled in that crash, though thankfully neither Ketch nor other engineers that were aiding in the retrieval process were harmed. Lucifer, however, seemed to be clutching his arm when he did manage to exit the car.

It wasn’t a pleasant race to watch in the slightest, but in the end, it was Sam that took the first-place trophy, Dean and Garth coming in to finish out the podium in second and third, respectively. Castiel had not realized how hard his heart had been beating until Gabriel announced the winner in the end. The rain never ceased to stop once throughout it all. _They had voted to race…_

He made his way to where the top three drivers would cross to go up to the podium, a row of the “grid girls”, the ones that hold up the drivers’ numbers at the start of the race, clapping in applause for when each driver came by. When Sam came through the hallway it was clear the word soaked did not even compare to the state he was in. His hair was tied back in a bun, but it was quickly falling down into a mop all around him. How it even managed to fit in the helmet dry was a question Castiel had had for a while, but wet must add at least four pounds to the weight on his head on top of the helmet. He only offered a nod, as he passed. Castiel gladly returned it. Sam seemed okay.

Dean walked up into view soon after, equally as soaked through. Despite the anger he had felt at the idea that the drivers had voted to race and that Chuck had let them, Castiel all but kissed Dean then and there upon seeing that the other man was alright. He didn’t, though. They were in public, but it did not stop Castiel from attempting to convey everything he wanted to say to Dean through his eyes. He blamed the fact that he had to run in the rain to get to the building on why his eyes were watering. Dean caught sight of Castiel quickly, though his eyes returned on of shyness and… guilt? Castiel arched his eyebrow. _What is going on?_

Dean shot him a look and shook his head as he passed. The message was clear. _Not here._

Whatever Dean wanted to say, Castiel would have to wait until tonight.

 

~

 

Lights left no shadow in sight as Japan brightened up the midnight air surrounding it. Every walkway, every storefront, hell, even the trash cans had some sort of LED system going through them.

Dean had texted him later that night, to no surprise to Castiel, though he would admit he all but busted through the door the minute the debrief and post-race interviews were scheduled to be finished. The disastrous race, though successfully completed with no casualties, could have played out far, far differently. It was enough to send Castiel’s mind into a tailspin while he had waited for Dean in the midst of the crowds of people completely avoiding the idea of a crosswalk and simply crossing however they pleased.

Something could have gone wrong.

The conditions weren’t safe.

Chuck let them race. They voted to race…

A hand angrily prodding him was what ultimately pushed Castiel out of his brain. When he turned a pair of dark sunglasses and a red flannel combination greeted him, Dean’s white teeth nearly just as bright as the LED monitors all around them.

“Where’d you go there? Took me forever to get y—”

Castiel didn’t care that they were in the middle of the square when he clashed his lips against Dean’s, but Japan seemed to take its cues from New York. No one paid attention to anyone unless they were the only ones on the street, which here was the exact opposite of what was occurring.

Dean stiffened at the sudden impact, but his mouth betrayed any sort of apprehension the surprise kiss might have had on him as Dean melted into Castiel, people around them paying no attention.

When they finally did break apart, Dean was breathless, the puffs of air still close enough for Castiel to feel breeze across his nose.

“What was tha—”

In a split second, a hand came across Dean’s face, the slap loud enough to even garner a few seconds of attention from a passerby that had looked up from her phone. Castiel quickly threw her an apology. His hand didn’t even feel numb from the contact, though Dean was rubbing his check as if Castiel had actually punched him more than slapped him.

Castiel didn’t care as much in that instant, however. “Why did you vote to race? Did you see the same track I did?”

A light seemed to go off in Dean’s head in that moment. “That explains things.”

“You should’ve fought Chuck on the matter. You should all have voted to not race and come out with your lives. Dean, you could have _died._ ”

For all of Castiel’s outbursts, Dean patiently waited for him to finish, a hand still absentmindedly rubbing at his cheek before resting to unconsciously rub his neck. “Cas, it’s okay.”

Castiel blinked. “It is clear you and I have a very different definition of ‘okay.’”

Dean only looked at him, an unreadable smile on his lips.

“Why are you smiling at me?” Castiel quipped.

It only served to goad Dean further, whatever small realization he was having a private thought. “I’ve been out of too many races, Cas. I couldn’t afford not to race. And by the way, you punch like a girl,” he answered sincerely.

“I slapped you because I was angry you’d endanger your life so recklessly.”

“I wasn’t reckless. I’m fine, Cas. Really, you don’t have to worry so much.” Dean paused, his hand moving from his neck to curl through his hair. He was nervous. “I knew you talked to Chuck about it,” he whispered.

Almost instantly, any sort of residual anger Castiel had previously had deflated as he watched how quiet Dean became. Even in the midst of a bustling street, the noise dimmed, like the start of an orchestra presentation. “It was nothing, Dean.”

“Still, he’s still your dad. It must’ve been hard trying to tell him how to run this world.”

“I didn’t exactly win the argument…”

Dean looked Castiel in the eye then, green eyes ablaze through the glasses with a hidden emotion he could not figure out in that moment. “Cas, I never could stand up to my dad when he pushed Sam too far about things, or about when Mom died and he threw us into this world regardless of whether or not I wanted to be in it. I’m just saying… you did more than I’ve ever been able to do even after my dad died. That’s, that’s something else.” He sounded observant, as if this had been more of a consensus drawn from over time than a spur of the moment answer. Castiel going to Chuck today must have been the tipping point.

The blue eyed man only gazed at the other man before him. Gone was the Dean Winchester, Ferrari Driver persona that he would wear for race weekends. Replaced was the Dean Winchester, man with a broken soul that Castiel had grown to love. He would stop at nothing until Dean started seeing himself as a person worthy of himself.

“Let’s walk,” he took Dean’s shoulder subtly, guiding him in any direction except for straight down. Dean followed without argument, though when it became clear that Castiel hadn’t the least bit of a clue where he was going, Dean intervened.

“Wanna see something real crazy?” he piped up after a few blocks. Even at night, his sunglasses sparked with the light bouncing off them. At one point, he had said it was douchey for someone to wear glasses indoors or at night, but now it seemed Dean didn’t care for the superficial world anymore. There was no one to hide from.

Castiel quickly realized it was because Dean was comfortable around him.

“Lead the way.”

There was a robot café. Yes, that was read right. The restaurant—or club from all Castiel could tell—that Dean took him to was decked out head to toe by robotic imagery, the waiters and waitresses all “friends with Terminator” as Dean called them. Dean asked for a seat closest to the back, but that did not seem to compute with the robotic waitress that managed the system. Dean and Castiel ended up sitting at the bar instead, the stage just next to them that housed an elaborate robotic show.

“This is one of the top places to go if you’re ever in Japan,” Dean moved to speak nearly exactly into Castiel’s ear so he could hear. Castiel fought not to shiver at the small times where Dean’s lips would brush up against his ear. “The food’s great, sure, but what really gets people going is the show.”

Almost as if on cue, the lights dimmed to only illuminate the stage next to where they were sitting. All at once, robots and giant animatronics burst to life as music played, the entire scene feeling like it was straight out of a kaleidoscope.

“Crazy, huh?” Dean spoke, his body near enough for Castiel to feel the warmth coming off of him. The show was spectacular, entire bodies moving in time to the music as waitresses and waiters came to refill the drinks they had ordered. Castiel briefly swore he saw people outside dressed up in _Mario Kart_ characters driving down the streets, the entire experience of being in a world completely out of his element enough to make him take the thought and turn it into fact. Dean seemed to have seen the same thing.

“That’s actually pretty fun.”

“You drove go-karts dressed as video game characters down busy streets?”

“Yeah,” Dean spoke, the show having died down enough to have them return to a somewhat normal atmosphere. “Sammy and I did it last year. Funny thing is, we ended up stopped at the same red light as Charlie and Kevin. They ended up tweeting the picture of us two out.”

“And who were you dressed up as?”

“Mario of course,” Dean deadpanned. “Sam couldn’t fit into any of the costumes,” he chuckled. “So he wore a green plaid shirt he had and nabbed the Luigi hat as a souvenir.”

“You two never cease to surprise me.” A smile played across Castiel’s lips.

Dean mirrored him. “I could say the same about you.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, a comfortable silence falling beneath them. By then, Castiel was fairly certain the robot waitress did not have a last call button. He had lost track of the amount of alcohol he had imbibed, but he was still conscious enough to recognize that looping an arm around Dean was not the brightest of ideas. But this was Japan. People had yet to recognize Dean save for a motorcyclist that had asked for Dean’s autograph while they had been stopped at a crosswalk. The guy had not even given Castiel a second look, however, therefore Castiel took it as a win.

He felt Dean lean into the touch, despite any of the possible dangers. That must just be them: despite all odds and despite the obstacles thrown at them, Dean and Castiel were drawn towards each other in the end. Always.

“We’re going home soon,” Dean murmured, either from the sudden wave of sleep or finally starting to feel the alcohol, Castiel couldn’t tell.

It dawned on Castiel then that Dean was talking about the next race.

Austin, Texas.

The United States Grand Prix was next.

A second realization hit him after. “Your stoplight interview is next as well, then.” He had almost forgotten about it. With everything that had happened, the thought of Dean having rescheduled the interview he would have had in Italy to the US only seemed to be a godsend.

“Oh yeah. Family’s in Austin, or at least, the ones that can make it down from Lawrence,” Dean remarked. Castiel could physically see the gears turning in his head once the first part of Castiel’s words hit him. Even despite the lights, his face turned pink.

“Is everything alright?”

“Y-yeah. Just good to think that I’m only a few nights away from an actual bed instead of a hotel room or hospitality suite.”

“I’m glad,” Castiel offered a smile. “And because of the spotlight interview, I can convince Frank to let us go off to work on it, if you would like.”

The connection to what Castiel meant then clicked in Dean’s head. “I like how you think, Cas.”

They left the robot café a little later after a few more rounds of shots, both men holding on to each other in support.

“How much did we drink again? Does Japanese beer affect people differently that it’s just hitting me now?” Dean huffed. His feet dragged as they moved. Though the streets were still relatively full, they were more thinned from the hustling world it had been when they had first met up.

“I’m sure we will be find out in the morning, or at least, after aspirin,” Castiel added. He could feel a small headache growing. He had always had a good tolerance for alcohol; it required _a lot_ for him to feel something, therefore if he was sensing the oncoming storm of a headache now, then they truly had passed their limit back there.

“Yeah, some morning where I have to fly on a deathtrap for nearly 24 hours.”

“You’re flying straight home?”

“‘Course I am!” Dean scoffed. “And you’re coming with.”

“I am?” This was news.

“Yeah,” Dean looked up then, his eyes clouded from the alcohol. “What, you think this interview cover idea was just gonna start at the race?”

The journalist laughed, the noise apparently causing Dean to only look up once more as they stumbled towards the side of their hotel. They couldn’t go in together, but they could at least savor the small moment outside. “I’ll make sure to clear it with Frank so he can give me a small camera to interview you with, but I do not see that being a problem.”

“Good,” without thought, Dean moved to peck Castiel on the mouth. He didn’t seem fazed, but it momentarily sobered Castiel.

“We’re right in front of the hotel, Dean,” he cautioned.

“So?” The driver shrugged. “It’s the crack ass of dawn and I’m happy. I’ve made up my mind.”

“About what?”

That same unreadable yet knowing look from just after Castiel had slapped him returned, and with it a small sense of shyness that Castiel had not been expecting.

“Just be at the airport tomorrow. And bring some tequila for the plane. We’ve got an ‘interview’ to start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts:
> 
> There is actually a company called Mario Car that lets tourists drive on actual roads dressed up as Mario Kart characters. The picture Dean takes of such people is actually how one of the drivers from Red Bull, [found the F1 journalists](https://twitter.com/danielricciardo/status/783649435234340864) one fateful race weekend. 
> 
> [Teaser from Off the Grid](http://www.nbcsports.com/video/f1-grid-japan-grand-prix-all-access). I wish I could find the full episodes again, they were great.


	17. United States

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Sam W. (244 points)  
> Dean W. (224 points)  
> Charlie B. (202 points)  
> Lucifer M. (175 points)  
> Kevin T. (166 points)  
> Crowley M. (152 points)  
> Michael S. (91 points)  
> Gadreel P. (79 points)  
> Benny L. (68 points)  
> Balthazar R. (61 points)

There was much that could be said about being back in the United States after months of high speed international travel and countless nights spent staring at stars Castiel had never seen dot the sky before. There was no guessing or misunderstanding language, cars drove on the right side of the road compared to other countries, and the climate was dryer yet more open. Europe could fit in the entirety of Texas and yet Castiel still felt in awe as he walked across the Austin airport.

There were massive artistic guitars that dotted the baggage claim areas, each unique and telling a story of an artist and musician. Other stores sported shirts with bats flying around, something that would have been understandable for late October, though this store seemed fixed, like it was here year round.

“Why is Austin weird?” Castiel wondered aloud, his eyes scraping through the various bats and slogans that intermingled to spell out what must be the city’s motto.

“Honestly, explaining that to you could take thirty years,” Dean chuckled next to him, a hat and aviator sunglasses hiding much of his face from any fans that might recognize him. Castiel was similarly dressed, having taken a pair of Dean’s glasses for his own, his tan trench coat now regarded as a telltale sign for diehard fans to recognize him. Instead he wore a simple t-shirt with his university’s symbol, the one shirt he had brought that did not have the network’s name on it.  Comfortable jeans rounded out his college aesthetic, at least, according to Dean.

“You ever been to Texas, Castiel?” Sam piped in from behind the two men, his nose nearly buried in his phone over a text conversation.

“I have not, though it is… intriguing thus far.”

They had elected to book the next available flight to the States once their jobs permitted. Dean’s team understood his want to get to what would effectively be Sam and his home race, so they let Dean leave with Sam not far behind. On Castiel’s part, Frank had questioned Castiel’s desire to return to the States once he had said he would not be going to New York, though once he had made the excuse to try and make Dean’s interview a little more in-depth the senior journalist relented. A bigger scoop was more important to him, enough to hide any other conspiracies Frank might have thought about. Kelvin, however, did not want to make the trip so early, therefore Castiel arranged to take one camera and film the interview himself. Surprisingly, Frank allowed it.

Dean smirked. “Well, welcome to home away from home away from home,” he counted off the number of times he repeated the phrase on his hand.

“Where is ‘home’? All of them?” Castiel couldn’t help but ask.

“Well there’s a place in Kansas, the factory in Italy when we’re testing, and a house Sam and I have when we’re racing here in Texas.” Dean offered a one-sided smile. “We’ve moved a lot, but what we could carve out is what we call home, and after all,” he moved to put an arm around Sam. “Home is where we are, right, Sammy?”

“Stop calling me that.” Sam’s smile betrayed his words. Castiel watched the brothers. Despite Dean’s small panic attacks on the plane ride, it had been both Sam and he that had helped Dean through it, and it was clear Sam and Dean were brothers that refused to live without each other. The pair had been through so much to get to where they are now, and compared to how Castiel had seen other teammates treat each other as rivals through and through instead of teammates, Sam and Dean’s relationship made the playful rivalry they carried onto the track even more commendable. Yes, they fought and yes, it translated on the track, but it was clear that they were brothers first.

Being the one that knew nothing of the layout of the airport, Castiel chose to step in line with the Winchesters as they made their way to the exit. “Is your car here, then?”

Dean seemed to perk up at the sound of his car being mentioned. “Baby? She’s in the garage at the house.” His grin grew into a wicked smile, only partially clouded by his glasses. “And the roads down here have no limits.” Castiel only nodded, a jolt of electricity running through him at the thought of being able to ride in Dean’s beloved car down deserted roads. It only served to call back the memories of their trip through Europe where the roads were windier and Dean could not go as fast as he wanted without having to break sufficiently. Texas, apparently, did not have that issue.

“You guys head to the interview room. I’ll see you at the house.” Sam waved at them as their taxis drove up. The “official” part of the interview was simply just a few questions behind the Formula One regalia that, realistically speaking, could and should probably be done during the race weekend in and of itself, but it had been Dean’s idea to simply get the official interview done first before they spent the rest of their time simply saying they were filming for such interview.

“Don’t go hiding all the nice shampoo, bitch!” Dean clapped his brother on the back.

“Just don’t stay out too late, jerk,” Sam simply responded.

“It’s a thing we do,” Dean answered Castiel’s silent question. He looked content, happy and free, no worries on his face in the slightest. “What?” Castiel had been caught staring.

“N-nothing. It’s just… this ‘interview’ persona seems to be taking a lot of stress off of you. You don’t have to worry about sneaking around of getting caught.”

Dean’s smile faltered ever so slightly, a blip in the frequency. “Y-yeah, I guess.” He opened the door of the awaiting taxi. “After you, Angel.”

Castiel was pretty sure even the taxi driver could see him blush.

 

~

 

“Sixty-seven has been my number way back since my carting days. I have this 1967 Chevy Impala that my dad gave me when I was eighteen, so it’s kind of like Baby is still there with me even though I’m not driving her.” Dean smirked. “She’s my number one, but don’t tell that to the team.”

They had started the formal part of the interview when they’d arrived at the Circuit of the Americas, the entire venue already in full preparation for the race to come.

“That is an admirable way to choose one’s car number,” Castiel added from where he sat next to the camera placed on a tripod. They were the only two in the room filled with red Ferrari flags, banners, and memorabilia. A window just behind Dean’s head was the only inclination that showed just where it was that they were. “With this being your home race, how excited are you to be back in the states and race on this still relatively new track?” He asked his next question.

“Oh, it’s always a treat, and not just because the winners’ hats are cowboy hats,” Dean laughed at his own joke. Castiel could tell he had a carefully constructed demeanor on, however. Dean still looked more at ease, but when placed in front of the camera he knew Dean was watching what he said. “Plus, there’s something about Texas that only adds to that feeling of home, you know? The sights are something else.”

“I’m sure they are.” Castiel matched Dean’s gaze, eager to find out any more answers Dean was willing to give. They had talked about the basics for the interview: the team, the cars, the track; that portion had been relatively easier and straightforward, but it was the personal questions that came on to be a little difficult for Dean to keep his controlled face from what Castiel could see. He could almost hear what Dean was trying to say.

_Do you wanna see them with me?_

“Well, thank you for your time, Dean Winchester. And I look forward to seeing what you accomplish at your home race for the Italian team.” Castiel moved to begin ending the segment.

“Thanks for having me.” The camera had barely shut off before Dean’s composure returned to how it had been a few hours before.

“You don’t think Frank’s gonna chew you out over the footage?” Dean hovered over the journalist while Castiel put away the equipment like Kelvin had taught him. “It’s not too little.”

“Dean, we spoke on camera for over an hour and a half.”

“Well, yeah, but I mean it was all about the team and being here and—“

“Dean, that’s the point.”

Dean only looked at him. “You still want to look at places though, right?”

“Of course I do, if you’ll have me.” Castiel turned to place his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I want to see the places you love so much.”

Dean relaxed more as he leaned into the touch. “Good, but uh, you should probably just bring the camera to keep up the idea.”

“Okay, but I am taking the battery out in case Frank or Adam have somehow figured out how to turn on a camera remotely,” Castiel deadpanned. It was enough to get a laugh out of the other man.

When Dean quieted back he only looked at Castiel once more, quiet, reserved, but there was something more.

“What?” Castiel prodded. He had yet to move from where he had gravitated towards Dean.

“What, what?”

“Normally you are the one that asks me why I was staring so much.”

“And, I can’t stare back now? You know this is a two-way street, Hasselhoff.” Dean chuckled, his frame never having stopped learning since the beginning. When he finally did connect with Castiel the kiss was slow and sweet. There were no other people around. This kiss was different, however. There was no rush, no question, no worry that they would get caught. It felt…

It felt like love, and the idea didn’t scare Castiel at all.

Dean groaned into the kiss when Castiel’s hand moved to cup his face. If they didn’t do anything about it, the action could lead them elsewhere.

“Dean…”

“Mh?” Dean hummed. Dean’s hand had somehow managed to work their way around Castiel’s waist in the interim of the kiss.

“If we expect to do anything we should probably move.”

“Do we have to?”

“Dean…”

Dean huffed, but not before surging in for one last kiss before breaking apart fully. His eyes remained hooded while he spoke. “Fine, but if we’re gonna make you a bonafide tourist, you’re gonna have to stow the trench coat unless you want to die of heatstroke.”

 

~

       

“People don’t live here; armadillos live here.” Castiel had been through his fourth water bottle in the last few minutes as they walked through the streets of Austin. After the interview they had taken a taxi to where Castiel would be staying during the duration before the race. This was also where Castiel left his coat before Dean and he went to see the sights.

Dean looked more carefree than ever even in his not-so-hidden clothing. People seemed to recognize him almost instantly regardless of where they went and yet they kept their distance. At first Castiel had assumed it was because they saw him walking alongside holding the camera (battery removed), but Dean later supplied that it was actually because the town knew a lot about him and Sam, especially when they would be here off season as well.

“The locals got so used to seeing us around they stopped treating us like we were drivers and more like people that just liked cars. Let me tell you, there’s more than a few reasons on why I love coming back here.”

The next day Dean came to pick Castiel up from his motel room in a sleek black car, not a single smudge or streak in view. It had been unspoken between them that Castiel stay in a hotel room Chuck had purchased for him, though Castiel briefly wondered if he had imagined Dean’s disappointed look that first night when they made their separate ways.

Castiel surveyed the roaring machine in front of him. Aside from its cleanliness it was clear the car was also an old soul, though not in age but in spirit.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“She is nothing like the cars I have seen you drive in the past.”  Even if Castiel knew very little about cars, he could tell the one in front of him was a treasure, a diamond that has seen a lot happen in her lifetime.

“Restored her myself, and Ferrari or not, I’m always gonna drive my Impala first. She’s not just four wheels and an engine, she’s home.”

Castiel moved to open the passenger side door and enter the car. The smell of leather hit him first, followed by an underlying smell of gunpowder and car oil. There was a box next to his feet that housed a tape cassette collection and a necklace hanging over the rear view mirror. It was clear this car was a home, and a respected one at that. He felt as if he was being invited to see a space no other outside of Dean’s family had, and most unexpected of all, he felt like he _fit_. The smell, the accents, the details, the seats.

This was Dean Winchester personified in his car.

During the entire time Castiel looked at the car, he could tell Dean’s eyes watched every movement he made.

“She is beautiful, Dean. I am honored to be able to see her.” Castiel turned to the driver sitting by the wheel. “Your car is your story, and I am thankful to finally meet her.”

“…I’m glad you get to finally meet her, too.” Something passed through Dean’s eyes, only instead of disappearing like it had in the past, the look remained. Dean only stared, his eyes darting across Castiel’s face as his smile settled on one of deep thought. Castiel only returned the look. It was a quiet moment, but the impact roared louder than the engines Dean drove.

Castiel realized then what this must feel like to fall for something wholeheartedly.

 

~

 

Their first few days were a culmination of tourist attractions, all surprisingly without much derailing by fans or other drivers alike. Whenever they were seen together they continued the idea of an “interview,” but even Castiel could tell Dean was purposely lingering whenever they touched, be it when Dean guided Castiel down a few blocks by placing his hand in the small of Castiel’s back or Castiel walking close enough so that their shoulders or hands brushed every other step. Connection, like communication, is a two-way street.

Dean took him to nearly every small business, well-worn shop, and weird location Austin had to offer, culminating in waiting for a hoard of bats to come trickling down one of the larger bridges in the city.

“So those are the bats…” Castiel found himself whispering.

“Yeah, this place sure lives up to the hype.”

It was only after those days that Dean stood fidgeting in front of Castiel’s hotel room after yet another night of sightseeing, lingering touches, and walking down the tourist area of nearby San Antonio.

“This place isn’t far,” Dean had started. Castiel only tilted his head, waiting for Dean to say whatever it was he wished to say next. “I mean, there’s this place I want to show you tomorrow, but I don’t know if you’d want to go.”

“We are not going to go through this again, are we?” Castiel offered a small smile. “If you enjoy these places, then I would like to see them as well.”

The driver did not seem to take the words in the same form he had taken them previously whenever Dean did not know if Castiel wanted to go somewhere. “No, I mean… would you like to…meet some people?”

“Meet some people?” Castiel parroted.

“Like, Sam’s girlfriend, and Bobby.”

“You would like me to meet your family?”

“God when you say it like that.” Dean looked away and gulped. “But yeah, I want you to. And you can see the house.”

Castiel paused and regarded Dean. He looked like he had when they had first met, the nervousness of flying now only replaced with nervousness of asking a question. “Are you nervous that I meet Jess and Bobby?” He spoke softly with a warm smile.

“What, me nervous? Why would I be nervous—I’ve got nothing to be nervous about,” Dean rambled before he caught himself. He sighed. “It’s just, we haven’t exactly had the best of starts I didn’t want you thinking… I don’t know, that this was weird or something, me bringing you home.”

“Why would it be weird?”

Dean paused, as if he had never thought of the question himself before. “I… You’re right. It’s not weird, I’m sorry. I’m just… happy and not letting myself accept that.”

Before Castiel could question it further, Dean moved to place his hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Be ready by eight tomorrow, Angel.”

 

~

 

Castiel had the entire day to himself until Dean arrived that night, enough time to check in with Frank and Hannah and sit down to question why Dean was so nervous over him meeting Dean’s family. In a split decision, he called Sam.

“Are _you_ nervous?” Sam had asked during their call.

Castiel paused. “I believe I am, yes, but at the same time I do not know where Dean and I fall in our relationship, if we have one.”

He heard Sam sigh. “Dean likes you, Cas. And I mean a lot. He’s just not used to being able to have that. And don’t worry about tonight, if anything it’s me that should be worried.”

“Why is that?”

The line grew quiet for a moment. “Dean doesn’t know this yet, but I’m gonna propose to Jess tonight.”

“Sam, that’s wonderful!”

“Thanks, but like I said Dean doesn’t know, and if he finds out I told you first I won’t hear the end of it,” Sam laughed. “I’m just nervous about the whole thing.”

“Do you love her, Sam?”

“Yeah, more than anything.” Sam grew quiet. “She’s my world.”

“Then you should not be nervous. From what you have told me about her I believe she feels the same way you do.”

“Cas, have you ever been in a relationship? Apart from Dean.”

“Assuming we have one.”

“You have one, even if he’s not talked about it yet. Believe me, if I have to endure another one of ‘Cas and I did X, Y, and Z today’ I’m gonna deck him.” It was enough to alleviate some of Castiel’s suddenly growing concerns around tonight. “Dean just left to get you, by the way. See you in a few.”

“Goodbye Sam.” The line clicked.

True to Sam’s word, Dean arrived ten minutes later to the hotel and knocked on Castiel’s door.

“Hey Cas,” Dean smile brightened when Castiel answered.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel returned the smile.

“You ready?”

“Yes, just let me get my coat.”

The drive to Dean and Sam’s shared house was not long, just a few miles outside of the heart of Austin. When they did arrive to the home, Castiel looked up in awe.

New York and Texas have nothing on each other. In New York, the apartments were jumbled together and compact, but the home he currently stared at had room to breathe and then some, neither side blanketed by another house. Filling the space around the house instead was trees and shrubbery, a garage poking just out of the green like a fin in the ocean. From where the car passed the front of the house while it made its way to the expansive garage, Castiel could make out a figure waiting by the light. It was an older man with a trucker hat on.

“Is that Bobby?” Castiel motioned toward the man that raised his hand at the car.

“Yeah. He takes care of the house while Sam and I are away, but he has a place out in South Dakota when he’s not here.”

They entered through the garage door that connected the garage to the main house, though the minute Castiel stepped into the room he was attacked by the smell of food cooking in the kitchen.

“Is that _PIE_ I smell?” Dean yelled down the hall next to Castiel, the door to the garage closing just behind them.

“Sam suggested it, not me!” A female voice answered back. Castiel passed small pictures of the brothers from their karting days, a taller man in a few of them smiling that must be their father. Others had Sam and Dean standing next to trophies and a younger version of Bobby.

A blonde haired woman greeted them once they had entered the kitchen, Sam standing next to her as he helped with the rest of the meal.

“Hey, Jess,” Dean moved to wrap the woman in a hug. “Sammy,” he ruffled his little brother’s hair.

“Watch it!” Sam moved to throw a punch but Dean dodged it as he circled back to where Castiel stood.

“Jess, this is Castiel. He works in the sport.”

“Don’t you go explaining who he is like I haven’t been hearing about him for the last seven months,” Jess pointed a wooden spoon at the older Winchester, effectively making him blush at the comment. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Castiel,” she moved to hug the journalist. “You’ve been keeping our boys in check out there, huh?”

“Jess,” Sam laughed. “Castiel isn’t a babysitter.”

“Oh no, not by any means.” Jess threw a wink at Sam.

“You’re not gonna say hello to me, idjit?” A gruff yet warm voice moved further into the kitchen.

“This is Bobby, the guy that practically helped raise us. Bobby, this is Cas.” Dean sounded more nervous than he had been when he had introduced Castiel to Jess. Castiel looked at the man and attempted to calm his own nerves. He did not want to leave a wrong impression.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Singer.”

“Bobby. Nice to meet ya, too, though next time make it less than seven months before I gotta meet someone, Dean.” He threw a look at Dean, though no malice or harm was showed in his tone. If anything, Bobby looked like he was honored to meet Castiel, something the journalist did not know how to process.

“Who’s hungry?” Sam piped in. “The pie’s about halfway done so it should be ready by the time we all finish.”

“Music to my ears.” Dean moved to place a hand on Castiel’s back. “The dining room’s this way.” It was the same gesture Dean had used when they had gone sightseeing, the same level of care and tender in the touch that Castiel had gotten used to over the last few days. He could get drunk off how it made him feel.

The wooden table was already set and waiting for them, Sam and Jess taking care of the food while Castiel sat down next to Dean. Bobby sat at the head of the table, Sam and Jess on the other side. In front of them were plates of chicken, rice, salad, and burger patties that could be made into hamburgers with a few additional fixings. As they began to eat, conversation flowed easily.

“Another year, another race weekend,” Bobby started, “and with it a good chance one of you boys is gonna win it all.” He eyed the two Winchesters.

“We’ll see how our home race treats us,” Sam chimed in.

“And how it treats everyone else,” Dean added.

“You remember last year how Lucifer just ran out and crashed after the first turn?”

“Yeah, and how pissed he looked when Benny slammed into him two seconds later?” Dean laughed. “Good thing that was during practice or else it could’ve been a lot worse.”

“I just remember being in the stands when they called Sam in and he had to get around Benny’s car still on the track,” Jess added as she plated salad onto her plate. “Races can be unpredictable that way, but I couldn’t get over you just waving to Benny to give him a ride on the car.”

“I wasn’t going to leave him stranded there!” Sam joined in. “He couldn’t get back from that side of the track and Lucifer sure didn’t look like he was going to help.”

The conversation carried on that way, each member of the family the Winchesters had built around them sharing stories of the past while Castiel listened, at times giving stories of his own from the past few races he himself had seen. It was when Sam and Dean went into the kitchen that he felt the air thicken slightly.

Both Jess and Bobby turned to him the minute Sam and Dean disappeared into the kitchen.

“So, Castiel,” Bobby began. “Heard a lot about you from those two knuckleheads.”

“Dean has shared a lot about you as well,” Castiel offered a smile. “You are like a father to them.”

“That’s because his real one lost sight of the love in his life.” Bobby’s face grew somber. “But this is why I feel like I need to read you the riot act, boy.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Castiel’s response only served to make Jess chuckle.

“It’s nothing bad, Castiel, it’s just that we know how hard it’s been on the three of you because of the jobs you guys do and how it’s shed you in some bad light recently.”

Castiel understood. “I promise you, I would do no harm to Dean or Sam alike. They are too important to me.”

Bobby huffed. “I know, which is why I’m telling you that if you do hurt that boy in there any more, there will be more than pain coming your way.”

“Understood, though we haven’t spoke much of our relationship due to the news that has been circulating around us. Dean is still very clear that his team not find out.”

“Bull,” Bobby chided, catching Castiel off guard. “Sam and I know his team won’t care about who he likes to sleep with. He’s an idjit for still thinking that way. Dean’s just having a hard time realizing his dad’s not here to hit him anymore for wanting something his dad didn’t.”

Castiel only looked at the older man, his mind still processing the words. “Did his father... not accept Dean?”

Jess stepped in. “John Winchester was many things, but accepting was not one of them, unfortunately. Sam and I both think that might be what’s caused him to be so scared that the world or his team will cast him out, not just the fear that you were feeding others secrets.”

Castiel looked to where the door stood ajar leading to the kitchen, Sam and Dean conversing on the other side while they awaited the pie. “I had not realized Dean had been hurt in such a way…”

“He’s a good actor, that one, but he’s not perfect. You’ve probably realized that, too.” Bobby moved to begin clearing plates from the table. “That’s why I’m glad he found someone like you, bad news be damned out there.”

“He’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you in the time that I’ve known him.” Jess smiled. Castiel only blushed in response. “Do you like him, Castiel?”

“There is a difference between love and like. If you like a flower you will pick it, but if you love a flower, you will water it every day.” He answered without missing a beat. “I choose to water.”

The response seemed to be more than enough for both Jess and Bobby. They gave each other a look before Sam and Dean entered with the pie in hand. Dean looked like he had a new spring in his step, though Sam looked more nervous than ever.

“Jess makes the best pies. You need to try it.” Dean placed an arm around Castiel. The journalist leaned into the other man’s touch, new information now making the exchange all the more impacting.

“I am sure it will be wonderful.”

“I, uh, have an announcement to make before we dig in,” Sam interjected just before Dean placed a knife into the pie.

“Really, Sam? You’re gonna stop me from enjoying apple pie?” Dean narrowed his eyes.

“It’s important. Your pie love fest can wait five minutes.” Sam shot back, the nervousness only temporarily gone. “I have a small question to ask someone.”

“What is it?” Jess answered him, her head tilted off to one side. Behind her, Bobby only smiled.

Sam moved to sit next to Jess, his body turned to the woman. “We’ve been together for a long time…”

Jess only blinked. “Yes we have.” She smiled.

“And these last few years have been the best years of my life. You’ve seen me at my worst and my best.” Sam moved to stand up and pull the chair out of his way, kneeling. All the while, Jessica’s face only widened at what the gesture must mean.

“You’re…”

“Jessica Moore, will you continue to make me the happiest man on earth?” Sam pulled a small box out of his pocket and held it up to the light. “Will you marry me?” He opened the box to reveal a small beautifully adorned ring, one diamond sitting at the top fix on a gold band. Jess was crying.

“Yes, oh Sam, _yes!_ ” Jessica’s hand shook while Sam fumbled to put the ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit, and as Sam moved to kiss his new fiancé Bobby broke into applause.

Castiel felt a hand grip his own and turned to see Dean staring at his brother, love unapologetically written on his face with no layers or masks to hide behind. Castiel looked down to where Dean’s right hand joined his left, Dean’s other arm still around Castiel’s shoulders and holding him tightly. He squeezed back with just as much force.

Dean felt the touch and turned to where his face was only inches away from Castiel’s. All Castiel could see was love, pure unabashed love. To think Dean’s father had tried to rob Dean from such an emotion due to his beliefs.

He did not know what spurred him, but Castiel moved to capture Dean’s lips in his own as the cheering continued. It was a small kiss, but one to let Dean know he was here. He was real. This was real.

“Congratulations,” Bobby pulled Sam into a hug, Jess not far behind. Castiel and Dean watched them, each offering their own congratulations in return.

“Now you can have your celebratory pie, Dean.” Sam smiled through watery eyes. He looked happier than Castiel had ever seen him.

The apple pie tasted glorious after the news the family had.

Jess had already begun writing down plans for the upcoming wedding when Dean and Castiel got up to leave. They bid their goodnights quickly, but instead of Dean moving to where the garage was he moved to show Castiel more around the house. His hand never left Castiel’s own.

They passed through another hallway, this one holding a glass case of past trophies both Dean and Sam had won from previous F1 races and junior karting races. More had Bobby pictured instead of John.

“You and Sam have garnered quite the collection of trophies,” Castiel commented.

“Yeah, if you count dinner plates as trophies,” Dean chuckled. “I still have no clue why some of the 2nd and 3rd place trophies look like you can serve Thanksgiving turkey on them.” He pointed to a 1st place trophy. “This was Canada last year. Their trophy is shaped like that maple leaf, see? And that one,” He pointed to a smaller trophy that resembled a geometric flame. “is from the British Grand Prix.”

“Why are there so many designs for trophies?” Castiel found himself wondering.

“I’ve got no clue, but Sam and I sometimes joke that we only really try to win the races that have cool trophies.” Dean smiled before he led Castiel to the stairs that sat just above the trophy case. He seemed to stop at the base, hesitant.

“Dean?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Always, though if this is how you lead to marriage I do not know we had gotten this far.”

Instead of laughing at Castiel’s allusion to Sam’s previous question, Dean only seemed to grow more nervous. “N-no, I’m not asking you to marry me.” He played it off.

Castiel moved to take the other man’s hand so that they were both joined. “I did not mean to make you more nervous, Dean.”

“Right, yeah, no.” Dean paused. “My life hasn’t been easy, exactly…”

“Yes,” Castiel waited.

“And this is still something I know we haven’t talked about much, you and me…” Dean huffed. “I’m not an easy person to be with, Cas.”

“We have not had the best time, I can agree.”

“Right but… Even with all that I’ve had the best time in a long time. Even with all the shit we’ve been through. I’m still… happy you’re in my life.” With every word he spoke, Dean looked less afraid and more at ease with the words he was saying. “I never thought this would happen, and I still think about the things I said to you in the hospital. I didn’t mean any of them, Cas. Not a word. God, I didn’t want you to leave. I didn’t want to believe anything people said about you, and I shouldn’t have because you never did any of the things. I’ve never had something stable beyond Sam and Bobby and Jess, and even then it’s been rocky, but being with you… I don’t know how you find words all the time and I don’t know how you still want to be with me even with all the times I’ve pushed you away. But every time even lately I have to leave you at that hotel and drive back here alone and it’s driving me up the wall because you’re not here anymore. I’m rambling and I get if you don’t want to do anything but, dammit Cas, please stay.” Dean squeezed Castiel’s hands, an anchor keeping him grounded while what must be the biggest tornado raged through his mind.

Castiel only looked at the eyes he had first seen on the plane so many months ago, how a small spark had pushed and pulled him to the man standing before him, every turn leading back to him no matter how long or fast. Every crash and every hidden moment, every road trip and every city; all roads led back to him.

Castiel loved Dean, and this was Dean’s version of those very same words.

“I will always come when you call, Dean,” he responded, a smile spreading on his face. “Always.” He leaned into Dean’s embrace, kissing him with as much passion as he could feed into the gesture. They were a livewire, alight with a newfound open connection that never broke in the time it took for Dean to get them both upstairs. It was infinite, a promise and a blessing after miles and miles of international tracks and unknown corners.

Insomnia did not come that night. Warm arms that held him tight helped him drift off to the best sleep Castiel had ever had.

 

~

 

Despite a tumultuous race with twisting turns and 3 cars retiring, it was Dean that claimed first place in the homecoming race for the Winchesters. But for Castiel, nothing beat waking up to him the morning after Dean had asked him to stay. If anything, the look Dean had as he stepped out of the car and took his helmet off only reminded him of the nights since that dinner and Sam’s proposal to Jess. Dean looked freer, happier, and now, he had won a race in his home country. The euphoria was palpable, especially with Charlie and Sam finishing second and third.

Castiel watched from the side of the stage, a microphone in hand. Frank had gone up to him not twenty minutes before stating he would be the one to do on-podium interviews.

“Just get up there and ask about the race. Our reporter dropped last minute,” he had griped.

Castiel didn’t care, however. He was thrilled he was able to talk to Sam and Dean alike after such an important win for them—for Dean.

The announcer read off Charlie, Sam, and Dean’s name in order, each driver coming out of the door ecstatic with the news as the podium overlooked the crowd of fans that was constantly growing. Instead of the usual black hats that they were given on the podium, however, a special black cowboy hat marking 1st, 2nd, and 3rd, was given to each driver instead. Castiel could see just how happy Dean looked to wear such an outrageous hat. Of course he would get excited; Dean would likely be excited about anything at this moment. The trophies were passed out, each one met with a roar of cheers and applause. Dean still had yet to catch sight of where Castiel stood awaiting his call.

“And now for our podium interview moderator, please give a round of applause to Castiel Novak!” the announcer called, Castiel’s cue to walk onto the stage.

“Hello, Austin, Texas and fans across the world!” he called into his microphone, the sound echoing into the stands and speakers across the entire circuit. “What a race that was, no?” The screaming crowd gave him his answer. To his side, Sam, Dean, and Charlie all smiled at him. “The United States certainly were kind to our top three here. I will start with Charlie.”

“Hi!” Charlie spoke through her own microphone, her hair down from the ponytail it had been in the race.

“Tell us about that scrimmage you had with Balthazar during the last few laps. It looked like you nearly spun out.”

“Yeah, he came out of nowhere on my line, but I play a lot of _Mario Kart_ so I got out unscathed,” Charlie chatted, a smile plastered on her face. “I know Ketch wasn’t so lucky, though. Poor guy.”

“If you’re referring to Arthur Ketch’s unfortunate retirement due to engine issues after spinning out on the same turn, I am sure he did not enjoy that at all.”

“Yeah, but our team raced well and I’m so happy with how both Kevin and I placed. Could we have done better? Sure, but these Winchester brothers are a force to be reckoned with then they’re one and two up there,” Charlie threw a wink at the other men. “But guess who bested the little brother in _Mario Kart_ just last month.” She smiled at the crowd. On Castiel’s other side, Sam only laughed and threw a little more of the champagne from the earlier ceremony her way in protest.

“Speaking of the Winchester brothers, Sam, how did it feel placing third?”

“It is what it is, but I’m glad to still place well, and the car ran well, so there wasn’t much that could have gone better.” Sam was still riding the high the adrenaline had supplied him.

Either because the younger Winchester knew something Castiel didn’t or because he was too excited to continue speaking, Sam motioned for Castiel to turn to the man of the hour.

“And now, for our first place winner,” Castiel heard the roar of the crowd behind him at the movement on the stage. “Dean Winchester.” He could never get over saying Dean’s name, not now or in any lifetime.

“In the flesh,” Dean responded back, producing another round of cheers at the sound of Dean’s voice reached the speakers and into the circuit. “What a race, right?”

“I agree, what a race…” Castiel trailed off, just content to see Dean in one piece again. What’s more, being able to stand next to Dean on the podium only heightened Castiel’s adrenaline. From how Dean looked, he was just as alert, the sweat and small line from his helmet still evident even underneath the cowboy hat.

“How do you feel, Dean?”

Dean only looked at him, the same look from the dinner and the one Castiel had been waking up to for the last few days. “How do I feel?” he parroted, though when Dean spoke the words they sounded different, more intimate.

Castiel only looked at him, an attempt to see past the mask Dean wore for the cameras. _What are you thinking?_ His eyes tried to convey.

There seemed to be no mask today, however. Instead he just saw that same look.

Dean seemed to step closer to him, but that couldn’t be, right? They were in front of thousands of cameras, millions of people across the world.

“How do I _feel_?” Dean spoke into the microphone.

Dean was definitely moving closer to him. The sound felt like it was going away, replaced by the irises of Dean’s eyes.

“I feel like I deserve to be happy, and right now, there’s only one thing—one person I want to share this moment with.”

Without another pause, Dean moved to grab at Castiel’s coat and crashed their lips together. Whatever sound the fans were making or the clicking of camera flashes going off did not matter.

Dean was kissing him. In public.

Castiel did not register it until he felt a set of hands envelop him from behind, effectively pulling him closer to the body the hands belonged to, a smile playing in between each kiss.

A different hand moved to clap Castiel’s back, and as if a light was switched back on sight and sound returned tenfold, the uproar of the crowd louder than any voice the microphones attempted to pick up. The hand’s owner only offered a reassuring squeeze, and when Castiel opened his eyes he saw a similar movement on Dean’s end. It was Charlie and Sam, each embracing the duo with smiles larger than their faces plastered on.

This was heaven. This was peace.

Until Castiel remembered where they were.

“Dean…” he gasped, still attempting to regain his breath from the last few seconds.

“I’m here. Always here,” Dean whispered back, still close enough that despite the noise Castiel heard him.

“You…”

“I know what I did. I’m ready for it. I’m sick of hiding.”

No more questions were asked on the podium. Instead, Charlie and Sam picked up the remnants of the leftover champagne and plastered arguably the two _real_ winners of this weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> Connection, like communication, is a two-way street – The author in her daily life
> 
> Your car is your story. – Moog from Might Car Mods
> 
> There is a difference between love and like. If you like a flower you will pick it, but if you love a flower, you will water it every day. - Unknown 
> 
> Fun Facts:
> 
> [Jensen with a F1 driver Checo Perez](https://www.instagram.com/p/_gHEwIN9o2/?taken-by=jensenackles). Idk I just remember when it came out my heart was happy lol
> 
> The first race they did when the Circuit of the Americas first opened had the drivers in stetson winner's hats. [Dean would be proud](http://media.gettyimages.com/photos/lewis-hamilton-of-great-britain-and-mclaren-celebrates-on-the-podium-picture-id156660758)


	18. Mexico

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Sam W. (259 points)  
> Dean W. (249 points)  
> Charlie B. (220 points)  
> Kevin T. (178 points)  
> Lucifer M. (176 points)  
> Crowley M. (152 points)  
> Michael S. (91 points)  
> Gadreel P. (85 points)  
> Balthazar R. (71 points)  
> Benny L. (70 points)

Questions asked and questions answered belong to all, not just the person asking or the person answering.

Castiel saw both sides of the world merge into one almost overnight.

Two weeks had passed since the eventful weekend in Austin, and in that time Dean had both worried over and embraced the amount of support that had been generated across the world. Well, except Russia, but it was the fans that mattered, not the country.

Ferrari announced a full statement on Dean’s behalf as well, a team that was once so secretive and closed off more than welcoming for their driver and their friend.

“Did you truly think they would not take care of you, Dean?” Castiel asked while they drove through beautiful Mexico City, en route to the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez. Since Dean’s stunt on the podium, there was no use in hiding their drives to and from hotel rooms or to and from circuits. It had become a running joke for Gabriel, proclaiming it on all social media channels and commentator opportunities each time Dean and Castiel were seen leaving a car together.

“Of course I did… but there was that small part of me that couldn’t shake the idea that it might’ve been my last race,” Dean answered honestly. He had told Castiel about going to his team the day after Sam’s proposal because of how much he realized he wanted something like that in his own life. His team principle only looked at him as if it was a normal day, not even batting an eyelash at his sexuality. The team welcomed him with open arms, even if half of them apparently already guessed since Dean’s earlier years in karting, having followed his career. Dean was more astonished at that than anything else.

For Castiel, however, the concern became his job, and with it came Frank. After Castiel had left the podium, the interviews having been cut short, he made his way to where Frank would be in the debriefing room gearing up to talk to the three podium drivers. They had spoken, but Frank did not look fazed at the news.

“What, you think I can’t tell the difference between a woman’s hand and a man’s? This thing’s been cooking since the minute I found you in first class with Winchester’s headphones. As for your job, that’s not up to me to decide but don’t worry about it right now,” was all he said on the matter. Castiel should have known Frank would have had a true conspiracy cooked up, hidden from his junior reporter after all. Dean only laughed when Castiel told him.

“Well, it was not your last race,” Castiel responded, his hand moving to rest atop the Ferrari driver’s as they pulled up to where they would split for the day. Dean was making his way to the practice session and Qualifying while Castiel reported for work in the paddock and pit lane.

“You got that, right. And we’ve got to race through a stadium this weekend.” Dean waved to a few crew members as they both were about to get out of the car.

Exiting the car had become an art form, or at least it would once Dean and Castiel figured out how to best go about leaving a car without having reporters and cameras trained on them. Billie had come to acknowledge that Castiel was also her responsibility after Dean’s stunt in front of millions of people, and she was the reason not nearly as many reporters were about to hound the car with questions.

“Stay safe,” Castiel remarked as he gazed out to the awaiting cameras.

Dean smirked. “What’s the matter, Jack, you going soft on me?”

“My name isn’t Jack.”

“It’s a quote from _King_ —nevermind,” Dean waved his hand. “We’ll add that to the list of movies I’m making you watch. See you out there.” He shot Castiel a smile before opening his side door on the other side of where the reporters were. Castiel took them head on.

“Where is Winchester?!” One cried.

“Are you two officially dating? How does that work?” Another.

“How did this happen?”

Castiel blocked them out. He had seen plenty of drivers who didn’t want to be interviewed to know how to do it regardless.

He had felt it the day before during the first few practice sessions of the race weekend upon arriving in Mexico, but every reporter and crew members’ gaze rested on Castiel for longer than normal as he made his way to where he would be meeting Frank for the day. It was to be expected, especially after the events of the last race. He had Billie’s number in case something were to go awry, but the person he knew he needed to speak to more than anything was Chuck. Surprisingly, Chuck had not uttered a word throughout the interim between races despite many channels asking for Carver Edlund to issue some sort of statement on the matter. In the eye of the public, Castiel was an intern hired by the network Carver had a deep say in. Keeping him employed could be seen as a conflict of interest.

“We’re here at one of the hottest and most colorful places on earth, Mexico, and I’ve still yet to find myself a dessert taco,” Gabriel’s voice echoed through the paddock while Castiel made his way to Frank. “But welcome to round eighteen of the Formula One calendar!”

“Welcome, indeed,” Castiel scoffed. He caught more than one look of uncertainty from people, but not all looks were bad. He caught sight of Ellen and Jo from where they sat by the pit wall. Both women smiled warmly at him, though now their “knowing looks” didn't look as mysterious as he once had found them to be. It was a few minutes before Castiel realized just why that was.

“You’re not doing the bullring today,” Frank called when Castiel finally had made his way through to the media room. “Too many eyes are on you right now and I have a feeling they’ll ask you more questions than you’ll be able to ask your boyfriend.”

Castiel regarded the senior reporter, the label Frank had just used still very new despite the two weeks. They had yet to talk about it fully, but it was the first time he had heard someone reference him and Dean as boyfriends. He smiled to himself. It had a nice ring to it. “That is a fair move, Frank. I will cover the pit lane then.”

“Good, but no playing favorites. I’ve already gotten more than twenty calls about pulling you entirely because of who you’re with.” Frank handed him his radio.

“C-calls? From whom?”

“Drivers. Crew. Doesn’t matter. None of them are above me, so I don’t listen to ‘em, but I’d watch it out there. And grab something to drink first. You’ll need it in this heat.” It was the most protective Castiel had ever seen Frank be when it came to him. The mere idea of it warmed his heart.

“Thanks, Frank.” Castiel smiled.

“None of that sentimental crap, you’ve got interviews to do!” Frank shooed him out, but Castiel caught the smallest of smiles. He would have to tell Dean he finally managed to break Frank after all.

 

~

 

“Both Winchesters have been on and off the track today as their times continue to improve. Meanwhile, only Morningstar from Red Bull has made a lap time in this session due to Michael Seraph’s time being just not good enough to make the cut in the last session.” Gabriel chattered on happily about Qualifying as the stands roared to life with every word. Language did not matter in F1; only speed. They had been in just the second session of Qualifying already, the first set of drivers having gotten out, including Lucifer’s teammate. Sam and Dean alike were running good numbers, but both were holding back.

After the fifth time of Gabriel calling Castiel “Mr. Winchester” on air, he  decided it was best to retreat to the hospitality suites and away from the attention. The few people that were in the suites did not bother him, a silent prayer answered in and of its own right.

He took his time and watched the TV monitors that were above him, his headphones still half on him in case Gabriel decided to pull a fast one and bring him back on air or Frank needed something.

Right now, the battle was trained mainly on Kevin as he made his flying lap around the circuit, but every few takes tuned to other drivers, some from the smaller teams and some from the bigger ones. In the Red Bull garage, however, only Lucifer was in his car watching the times as other drivers attempted to go their fastest laps.

“Where is Michael?” Castiel wondered. He wasn’t on the track at all.

“Looking for someone?” A hard voice called his attention behind him. “Hello, Castiel. It is a pleasure to see you outside of those vicious interviews.”

“What are you doing here?” Castiel only stared at Michael as he approached. He was still dressed in his driver’s uniform, only his eyes cast down in mockery.

“I placed, didn’t I? I can free-roam if I want to.”

“…Not really.”

Michael stared as if Castiel had grown a third head. “Don’t pretend to know what drivers can and cannot do just because you are sleeping with one.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here.” It wasn’t a question.

“What makes you think you know anything, really? Just because Adam got caught in his little leak doesn’t mean the underlying truth isn’t there.” Michael moved to stand in front of Castiel, effectively blocking the monitors. “And now with that red suit of a man you got there outing himself and you to the world, you really think people aren’t gonna call for you or him to resign?”

“I do not know what you mean. Ferrari issued a statement on Dean’s behalf and have welcomed both him and myself regardless of the status of our relationship, which, I will add, is none of your business.”

“Oh, I’d say it’s my business. It’s everyone’s business what Dean does and doesn’t do on the track. Have you not gotten that into your head yet?” Michael scoffed at Gabriel’s remarks on the screen. “He’s got a lot of people pissed because of what you two think you have, and it’d be a shame to see him go up in even more smoke next time he crashes.”

The words stopped Castiel. “Why would you say that?”

“Lucifer is still racing.”

Castiel made a mental note to stop going into hospitality units. There did not seem to be good news in such places.

“Lucifer is racing in Qualifying,” Castiel clarified.

“Oh yes, he’s racing for points and for his career,” Michael added. “But don’t think he’s number one in the team. Dean’s got a spot on solid ground, but don’t think the minute he’s incapacitated that Ferrari won’t just call up someone else or buy out a contract.” He shook his head. “Who do you think they’ll call? Adam? No. Lucifer is too much of a wildcard and he might be out if he doesn’t peg Dean, and he’s also been in the news. And Crowley is not about to sell his soul with the amount of money Mercedes is paying him.” Michael raised a hand to himself. “Which leaves me: the true driver for such a respected and well off team.”

The logic nearly gutted Castiel raw. “Y-you have been orchestrating all of this?”

Instead of answering, Michael shrugged. “I’m going to reap the reward, but that does not mean I had any part in it, did I? Hypothetically speaking, of course.” Before Castiel could say anything else, Michael raised his hand. “Save your breath. I will see you in tomorrow’s race.”

“With that, Qualifying has now come to an end in a spectacular fashion!” The monitors above continued on with their day, reporting news and facts of a sport that had turned Castiel’s world into a love and war zone.

 

~

 

“Missed you doing the interview after Qualifying today,” Dean whispered into Castiel’s ear. “Frank keep you on a leash?”

“No, he was worried about other reporters asking me questions to try to get to you.” Castiel shifted on the bed they were on.

It was nearing the early morning hours leading up to the final race day, Dean having asked Castiel to spend the night with him the night before. It proved easier, with some help from Billie, to get Castiel past the reporters that had camped themselves right outside Castiel’s hotel door, but the trek to get to where Dean and the other drivers were staying still had not been the best of routes especially in Mexico. Not to mention Michael’s threat. He needed to talk to Chuck.

“You gotta talk to me, man,” Dean prodded.

“Hm?” Castiel craned his neck to look up towards where Dean’s head rested on the nearest pillow.

“You got the ‘my guard's up and I’m about to go into battle’ look.” Dean smirked.

Castiel rolled his eyes. “If that is what you call it, then you have the same look all of the time.”

“Well do I have it now?”

“…No.”

“So, talk to me.”

Castiel paused and thought over his words. Would it hurt his mental state to tell him? Yes, immensely. He could spend the entire race thinking Lucifer will crash him out. Would it hurt more to not tell him?

Yes. He could not know to see it coming.

“Cas…”

“I keep it all inside because I’d rather the pain destroy me than everyone else,” Castiel began. “And… I’m going to talk to Chuck in the morning despite him not seeming to want to talk to me.”

“…Okay,” Dean prodded. He moved to pull Castiel in closer, Castiel’s head tucked into Dean’s shoulder. “What are you going to talk to him about?”

“Can you promise me to look out for Lucifer tomorrow?”

“Sure, Cas?”

Castiel moved to bury his face near Dean’s neck. “I don’t want to see you hurt like before summer break. That is all.”

He felt arms that wrapped around him tighten. “This life isn’t one hundred percent safe, but I try to be. It’s… it’s been nice, knowing I got someone to come back to.”

Castiel shifted to meet Dean’s eyes. Dean was not one for emotions, especially ones that revolved even remotely around love or affection. There was no guard up, no fortress to block out the rest of the world in Dean’s eyes. There was no hint of remorse or guilt.

“I’m not as good with words as you are, you know that, but you’re not planning on doing something, are you?”

“No, Dean.” Castiel reassured. “I just need to ask my father about work.”

“Well he doesn’t get all of you, you hear?” Dean placed a small kiss on Castiel’s forehead. “I know I’m still learning how to do this out in the open, but the season’s almost over.”

Castiel moved up to meet Dean’s lips with his own, capturing another kiss. “You will do great tomorrow, I know it.”

“I do, too. I got you watching over me.”

 

~

 

Chuck beat him to doing anything the following day. It was Frank that broke the news:

 

**BREAKING:  RED BULL DRIVERS INVOLVED IN COERCION IN WINCHESTER AND NOVAK SCANDAL**

 

The headline was followed by not only Michael’s outburst at Castiel the day before, but also footage of Lucifer threatening Castiel about Dean and his intentions just before he and Dean had nearly crashed into each other.

“Why didn’t you say Morningstar had been throwing punches your way back then? Even if you couldn’t have told me it was about your lover boy, you could’ve said something.” Frank eyed him.

Castiel studied the headline on his own phone while the cars geared up for the race around them. “I need to talk to Carver.”

“Like hell you do, and your little baby-face assassin needs to watch it out there with these two devils on the track.”

As if they were called, the monitors atop the two men blazed to life with the two Red Bull drivers, each sporting an identical scowl as they barreled their way to their cars to start the race. More than one reporter attempted to stop them while in the paddock, but none looked in Castiel’s direction.

“Looks like we’ve got an even bigger story than the star crossed lovers of Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester on our plates, folks,” Gabriel spoke over the video. “If you haven’t heard, Red Bull is in some pretty H-O-T hot water after footage was recently released by… oh someone. I don’t bother with names.”

Gabriel continued speaking as Castiel nodded to Frank and walked away. Every step between the media center in the paddock to where Castiel knew Chuck would be in race control felt like a weight was both being lifted as well as being placed. Uncertainty and confusion warred with each other, though at the same time knowing that there were reparations to pay set him free.

Was this happiness? Was he supposed to feel happy? He still had so many questions, but when Castiel finally made his where to where Carver Edlund’s room would be, instead of being stopped like he had once before, the door opened wide with the small figure of his father offering a smile just behind it.

“Hi, Castiel. Come inside.”

In the background, the race was underway as the cars’ sound attempted to breach the room. They only succeeded in carrying a muffled tone instead, though that did not stop the windows from shaking slightly.

“Why did you wait? Why didn’t you release the footage of Lucifer sooner when it had happened? Does Dean know? What happens now? With everything?” It was not the order of questions Castiel had first thought of in his head, but they would have to do.

Regardless of Castiel’s babbling, Chuck listened to him patiently and despite the fact that he still had a radio earpiece on feeding him all that was happening in the race. “These are all valid questions, son.” He trailed off.

Castiel eyed him. “I would like the truth, Chuck. Why now?”

“Because Dean was not out to the world and you didn’t know the truth at the time.” Chuck sighed. “I may be a hard ass or an annoyance or someone that is not photographed a lot in the press, but I do care about my drivers, Castiel, and I respect them regardless of how it looks like I treat them.”

Despite the rancor of the outside world, Castiel could hear his own heartbeat loud and clear as he processed the words. “… You did it for Dean?”

“Yes, and for you.” The other man smiled. “Before, Lucifer had threatened you for your suspected espionage with Ferrari and Dean, but now Michael’s threat and revelation only deepened the plot and gave ground for major fines from within the team. Rest assured that the matter will be looked into. It’s very likely you won’t see them for a while after this season is over. I already have had calls that they should not race for the rest of the season.”

“C-can you do that?”

“I can give them penalties, but there has never been a situation like this to have a contingency plan in place.” Chuck chuckled. “Some of our rules are too weird to even start thinking about new ones. We give drivers more grid spot penalties that sometimes they end up with nearly 75 to deal with, when there are only 20 drivers for crying out loud. Did I ever tell you I was drunk when I thought of that one?”

“You and I have not had much time to talk at all, actually.” Castiel commented.

“That is fair, but in terms of answering your questions… it is complicated. This entire sport is complicated, but rest assured that you and Dean are not.” Chuck turned his head slightly to listen to his earpiece. “Give him a 10-second penalty. I will not have my drivers run off course by those two again.”

Castiel only watched his father speak into his radio, relaying instructions about sectors and time laps that he had apparently been listening to all along despite their meaningful conversation. The man was truly a master at multitasking. “I should leave you. The race is over halfway done by now and you have work to do, but I have one last question before I leave.”

“Anything, Castiel.”

“What does this mean for me as your son? And my job? You did not mention that in the video or article that was leaked.”

Chuck remained silent for a while, enough time having passed that Castiel briefly wondered if something had happened on the track and he had merely just been listening to the radio instead of thinking about the question. “As I said before, it’s complicated,” Chuck surmised. “But…if you would like to stay, then I can arrange for something to happen with some friends. I will leave that choice up to you. You can watch the race from here, if you want. I won’t ask you to leave this time,” he spoke as if he was regretful, his tone somber and his eyes refusing to meet Castiel’s.

It was a lot to unpack, much more in a room that seemed to open and yet so alone. Outside, the world raged on in a sport faster than the speed of sound, and yet to Castiel it felt like time was both moving too slow and too fast.

“Okay,” he finally decided, taking a seat in front of where Chuck had monitors and radio transmissions that allowed him to see all angles on the track, a very similar setup to what Castiel had briefly seen in another country. Chuck only nodded, drawing from Castiel’s quietness a sign that their conversation was over.

An hour later, the race marked it’s end, Dean taking first place just before Crowley could pass him. The stands were blazen with different colors and sayings, each sporting their favorite driver or team, especially in the section where the track overlaid with a former baseball stadium. Mexico was nothing if not colorful, and the celebrations reflected it.

“And there is the senior Winchester, racking up another 25 points for his team in first place,” Gabriel spoke once Chuck had raised the volume of the commentator audio. “Wonder what Mr. Castiel Winchester will say about that!”

“Your brother is a very candid person,” Chuck chimed in.

Castiel only looked at his father, elation from seeing Dean win quickly turning to utter shock. “I’m sorry, but did you say Gabriel is my brother?”

Chuck seemed to realize something, eyebrows arching up. “Gabriel said he told you?”

“Gabriel said nothing of the sort.”

“… Well, we can talk about that later. I think your boyfriend just won the Mexican Grand Prix.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> What’s the matter, Jack, you going soft on me?- Mr. Denhem, King Kong
> 
> I keep it all inside because I’d rather the pain destroy me than everyone else. – Unknown 
> 
> Fun Facts:
> 
>  Baby face assassin is actually what they call Max Verstappen, the youngest driver to ever win a race. He's a hoot.
> 
> [There actually is a baseball stadium that the track cuts through](https://image2.redbull.com/rbx00593/0010/1/1030/515/459/event/lead_image/mex-2016-race-page-cov.jpg)


	19. Brazil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Dean W. (274 points)  
> Sam W. (271 points)  
> Charlie B. (235 points)  
> Kevin T. (188 points)  
> Lucifer M. (182 points)  
> Crowley M. (170 points)  
> Michael S. (95 points)  
> Gadreel P. (86 points)  
> Benny L. (72 points)  
> Balthazar R. (71 points)

Dean had not taken the news well, though not for the reasons Castiel expected. He thought Dean would be mad that Castiel had not said anything to him when this had all happened. He thought he would have been mad that Lucifer, Adam, and Michael all seemed to have out it for him.

Instead, when Castiel opened the door to find Dean standing on the other end, all that he could see in those green eyes were sadness.

“You put up with all their shit even when you thought I hated you,” he spoke softly, his eyes meeting Castiel’s straight on. “This was what you were thinking about the other night weren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes… I did not want it to affect your mental state with the race. I know it is important to you that you have focus in order to win.”

“You were threatened twice and didn’t say anything because you thought it’d hurt _me_?” Dean looked shocked before he raised his hand and passed it over his face. “God, Cas, you are so stubborn you forget to look after yourself sometimes, you know that?”

“… I suppose that can be one interpretation, but I did not see it that way at the time.” Castiel suddenly felt self-conscious. “You always talk about racing as the thing you use to cope with all that you have lost and how it helps you focus.” He breathed. “This is your life, Dean. I didn’t want anyone messing up the sanctuary you spent years building.”

Dean scoffed at that before fully entering the room and closing the door. When he turned back around, however, instead of the sadness that had been on his face only moment before, there was now a different emotion.

“You talk about these things like you’ve known me my whole life, but you’ve got it wrong if you think you’d destroy my ‘sanctuary’. God, that’s even too chick flick for me.” Castiel tilted his head.

Dean looked down at his hands quietly, as if thinking through his words. Castiel waited, though he did not have to wait for long.

 “You’re part of that, you know. The whole sanctuary thing, though for the love of God we’re not calling it that.” Dean shook his head while a smile played on his face.

“I’m a part of that?” Castiel echoed.

“Yeah, you quote-loving, dorky angel. You’re a part of that, and driving or not it’s not the same without you there on the sidelines.” Dean moved forward to meet Castiel’s lips slowly, a long lingering kiss fueled with emotions words could do no justice. “Don’t worry about my mental state or whatever when I’m driving, not when it comes to you and your happiness and safety,” he said once they broke apart.

Castiel chased another kiss, any remaining fears he had lost in the love he felt in that moment. “Then what about Lucifer and Michael? And Adam?”

"They’ll race through the end of the season, but probably not after that. They’ll know not to throw punches out on the track. The whole world’s watching them. And us, too, for that matter. Hell, everyone in Austria probably hates me for making Red Bull look like shit.”

Castiel digested the words. “Well, the whole world and Austria will forgive you and still love you. I am sure of it.”

Dean smiled at the worlds before his voice grew quiet again. With how close they were in Castiel’s hotel room, however, the words were loud and clear.

“I don’t need the whole world to love me. Just you.”

 

~

 

Brazil was hot, but not hotter than the news that continued circulating. Since the events of Mexico’s race, both Michael and Lucifer had to pay severe fines for threatening a reporter of the network, though if Frank’s rumor mills were correct (which, as Castiel knew, they usually were), it was very likely they will not be returning to Red Bull next season.

For Gabriel, however, it only served to fuel his own fire, in Castiel’s opinion. “So what’s got Mr. and Mr. Winchester late to the race session this time around? Let’s go down to our correspondent down on the ground. Castiel?”

“Ahem, thank you ever and always, Gabriel,” Castiel refused to stutter on his words. This was not the first time Gabriel had referred to Dean and he as such. “For the penultimate race of the season, we are in Sao Paulo, Brazil for the Brazilian Grand Prix, and looking at the track it is very possible that we will be in for a spectacular race.”

“I’m just pulling your leg there ol’ buddy ol’ pal,” Gabriel fired back. “But it’s a beautiful day for some racing, that’s for sure!”

“Indeed. All teams seem as if they are gearing up for the finale, and with how historic and fast this track is, there will be much to see.”

“Ah, but you haven’t answered the question, Mr. Winchester? What made you late today?”

Castiel’s demeanor failed on him. Even though he was not on camera, he could see the monitor that showed the live feed. On it was Dean listening to the conversation. Even through his helmet, Castiel could tell the other man was smiling by how his eyes crinkled.

 _You tell him why we’re late_ , he seemed to challenge.

“I am not a morning person, though I cannot speak for the actual Mr. Winchester.” He took a small liberty in seeing Dean’s head shake back and forth on the monitor. To think they could have this out in the open… it was an unimaginable reality.

Unfortunately, Gabriel also had access to the monitor. He whistled loudly into the microphone. “Nobody says ‘penultimate’ but you, my friend. Well, looks like I’ll be getting a little more information on that later! But for now, it’s race time!”

Drivers sat idly in their cars, though each was antsy to leave the start/finish straight and fully begin. From Castiel’s vantage point, the track was clear enough to start, though clouds hung overhead, threatening rain that was to come. Alongside both sides of the track sat tourists and fans alike, each screaming and staring with their phones in hand and team colors on top. Everyone waited for the lights.

“Here those engines roar as the red lights begin counting down!” Gabriel screamed. “It’s round nineteen of the season and it’s LIGHTS OUT AND RACE TIME!”

The red lights that had spent their sweet time lighting up all went off simultaneously; a split second later all of the cars were gone with the wind. Each zoomed down to the first turn, speeds easily gaining over 150 mph. Dean’s car sat in third as they began their turn, Sam having qualified before him but Lucifer getting a better start from where he had been in the 3rd grid spot.

“It’s Morningstar on the inside as they head past turns one and two, a perfect place to try to overtake, but a narrow rock and a hard place to be once you hit those turns at full speed! There go Harry and Gadreel off the line and past the chicanes as they try to get back onto the actual blacktop, but up front Dean Winchester is breathing down Morningstar’s neck while Milligan follows in his slipstream! This may not be _Mario Kart_ , folks, but Adam sure is taking advantage of the wind Winchester is kickin’ up!”

The cameras focused in on the battle at the top of the track, each shot interchanging between wide shots showcasing Dean and Adam’s cars to the cameras that were physically on the cars themselves showing the drivers’ point of view. It did not look like Dean knew Adam was there until they nearly collided in Adam’s attempt to pass.

“Gutsy move from the former Ferrari reserve driver there! Looks like there’s still some bad blood between these two!”

Gabriel’s words did nothing to alleviate Castiel’s state of mind. This was still a race, and though the worst was over, that did not mean the season was. “Castiel, why don’t you tell us what’s going on down there?”

The comment caught Castiel off guard. “Well, it seems Adam and Dean are fighting on the track, though in terms of points Adam is nowhere near Dean’s standings in the championship. Having crossed Dean, however, will affect Dean’s chances at winning the driver’s championship.”

“Caught you off guard, didn’t I.” Castiel could hear the smirk Gabriel was likely sporting.

“Why don’t you tell us the weather report,” he grumbled instead. Gabriel seemed to take it as a joke.

“I’ll do just that then, Mr. Winchester,” the commentator added. “Seems our friends the clouds are about to cry out a storm soon, so watch the pit lane for cars coming in to change tires or just get the hell out. We’re nearing that pit delta anyway.”

Laps passed, Dean and Adam continuing to fight while Sam inched his way farther and farther away from where Charlie had been following behind. It was a frenzy, each driver nearly colliding with the other on the turns while Sam’s lead only grew.

Dean’s radio came on just before the first few droplets of rain began to fall.

           

TEAM: There is weather in the forecast, so we will box next lap.

DEAN: Heard. What about Sam up top?

TEAM: He should be able to re-enter in first if he extends his lead by 1.345 more seconds.

DEAN: Well, like hell that’s happening.

TEAM: You have a chance to emerge in second should you gain more than a 3 second advantage on Lucifer in the next coming laps.

DEAN: Never tell me the odds.

TEAM: Understood.

 

It was interesting, listening to commentary, even when it seemed odd or out of context.

 

TEAM: Michael is trailing behind you in—

LUCIFER: Leave me alone I know what I’m doing.

 

TEAM:  We need you to pick up the pace to win the race.

SAM: Uh, I’m actually in the lead right now and I’m quite comfortable where I am.

 

After a particularly nasty attempt of Michael trying to pass Dean towards the ending laps:

 

DEAN: If I don’t avoid that fucker, he’s just going straight for my car! Honestly, what are we doing? Racing or ping pong?

TEAM: Understood. Just keep pushing.

 

The last few laps continued the thread of quips and quirks from many different drivers, even more so once the rain officially started falling towards the end. Cars began to slip and slide, though those that had gone in to change their tires to ones more suitable for such conditions faired better, as was the case for Sam, Dean, and Michael. Lucifer and Gadreel had elected to wait out the storm, but instead of letting up, the rain only got heavier, causing both cars to spin out more and fall further behind. Castiel was grateful Lucifer was one of those cars, though Michael’s presence towards the top still had him unsettled.

“Dean and Michael are neck and neck heading into turn fifteen, but Michael is losing traction fast—and there goes Dean with some expert driving to get around Seraph to regain second!”

Castiel’s heart ignited quickly at the occurrence. There were only a few laps left before the race would officially end.

Despite Michael’s attempts to get back at Dean for overtaking, the results were Sam winning the race, Dean coming in second, and Michael nearly spinning out before crossing the finish line in third. Adam was able to claim fourth, but that hardly mattered anymore.

What mattered was that the championship seemed like it would come down to the final race, and it would be Sam versus Dean.

Champagne was thrown on the rainy podium despite Michael’s presence next to Dean and the potential destruction that could bring, but upon listening to the on-podium journalist ask each driver questions, Castiel noticed that Michael looked more reserved than he had ever seen the man. It looked like the rumors would come true after all if Michael refused to comment when asked about his placement in the championship. From where he sat by the podium, Castiel thought that would be the end of the conversation. Even the reporter interviewing them seemed to have the same idea, until he didn’t.

“What, nothing to say there?” Dean challenged, his demeanor switched from glee and euphoria over the race to one of contained fury almost instantly.

“…No. Nothing to say. Nothing to say for one more race.”

“No? After the stunts you’ve pulled you’re just gonna go get some curly fries after and call it a day?”

Sam grabbed Dean’s arm from the other side. Though the cameras didn’t pick it up, Castiel noted how Sam shook his head and mouthed the words. “It’s not worth it.”

Dean shrugged his shoulder. “Forget it.” His eyes searched the edge of the podium until they landed on Castiel. His demeanor changed once more to where it was just before he had received his trophy and celebrated the champagne. Gone was any hint of anger in his eyes.

Castiel studied those eyes, his own attempting to talk through motions rather than words. Dean told him all he needed to know.

_Don’t be angry. It’s okay. We’ve talked about it._

_Doesn’t mean it isn’t right._

_Just go celebrate your trophy._

Dean scoffed. It was moments like that which made Castiel question if they truly had some sort of telepathy to speak to each other through their eyes alone.

When Dean came off the podium after the interview, instead of heading to where the debrief session would start he detoured to where Castiel stood.

“Congratulations,” Castiel offered a smile.

“Thanks. Sorry you had to see that on the podium.”

“You and Michael nearly fighting? Need I remind you that you punched Adam for something very similar?”

“No, you don’t need to remind me.” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “It just bothers me the guy won’t even say anything.”

“Does he have to?”

“Dude’s an ass. Hell yeah he should have to.” Dean rubbed at his face and sighed.

Castiel put a hand on his arm, the back of his mind aware that they were undoubtedly being scrutinized by just about every camera there was in the building. “It’s over, Dean. There’s only one thing left now.”

Dean looked down to where Castiel’s hand was, his body momentarily stiff before he seemed to realize just how much it truly was over, how everything was out in the open and they could finally have this. He offered Castiel a small smile. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“And you’re headstrong.”

“Guess we make quite the pair.” Dean moved to pull Castiel in.

Castiel returned it. “Now who was the one that said they did not enjoy ‘Chick Flick’ moments?”

“Shut up.” The sound of cameras went off as Dean pulled Castiel in for a kiss. It had been one hell of a season, but the worst was past them. All that was left was to see who would win the championship: Sam or Dean.

But for Dean and Castiel, they’d fallen harder than the asphalt on the track.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> I don’t need the whole world to love me. Just you. – Unknown 
> 
> Never tell me the odds. - Han Solo
> 
> Leave me alone I know what I'm doing. - Kimi Räikkönen during an actual race. It became a meme.
> 
> Many of Dean and Sam's team radio broadcasts are things drivers have actually said during races in real life
> 
> Fun Facts:
> 
> For the longest time, Brazil would mark the end of the season and championship, and arguably the most famous driver of all time comes from Brazil: Ayrton Senna. Up until 2018 with Massa's retirement in 2017, there had always been a Brazilian F1 driver since Senna's death.


	20. Abu Dhabi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP CURRENT STANDINGS
> 
> Sam W. (296 points)  
> Dean W. (292 points)  
> Charlie B. (243 points)  
> Kevin T. (188 points)  
> Lucifer M. (186 points)  
> Crowley M. (170 points)  
> Michael S. (110 points)  
> Gadreel P. (92 points)  
> Benny L. (74 points)  
> Balthazar R. (71 points)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a ride. Thank you for everything.
> 
> This was my baby for over 2 years and I cannot be more proud to share it with you.
> 
> Now let's finish with a bang.

The last race in the calendar was one of the most luxurious and expensive to watch: Abu Dhabi. Located in the United Arab Emirates, the Yas Marina Circuit where the drivers would take their final drives of the season was packed with fans and interested personnel alike, each placing bets and hopes that their favorite driver would win it all.

Gabriel sounded like a proud uncle as he spoke. “With only four points separating them, this race will spell the beginning of a new defending world champion in a Winchester, that much is guaranteed, though with the older Winchester qualifying third yesterday to Sam’s pole position it’s not gonna be an easy race for these two brothers. Anything could happen, and poor Bradbury is caught in between them, though I suspect she wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“That or Novak,” Frank supplied, joining his voice to the conversation. “This story has taken us on a long and fast journey, but why don’t you cut the crap and gear up to talking about what you wanna talk about, eh, Shurley?” Frank looked about as annoyed with the monitor he was looking at as he was whenever Castiel messed something up on camera. To his right, Castiel only stifled his laughter.

“Oh hush, grandpa. We can sweeten the pot in just a second,” Gabriel fired back. Frank had offered to take the final race as his last farewell to the sport, meaning Castiel could watch the race as a passenger and  VIP in the paddock, a very different experience with not working the event but just enjoying it.

“You keep sweetening that pot it’ll turn into burned caramel,” Frank grumbled, but even Castiel could see the man fighting back a smile. “The race is about to start and all you’ve yammered on about is how much people have paid to be here, not a word about your favorite little scoop of a story.”

“I’ll have you know burned caramel could still be saved.” Gabriel didn’t even seem fazed by Frank’s quips. His head snapped up on the monitor at the mention of his favorite story, however. “We have to talk about our high speed lovebirds!”

“One half of them is here with me, you know?”

“Splendid! Why don’t you give him a little interview as your final farewell?”

Frank scoffed. “Like hell I’m doing that. I’m here to talk racing, not about my intern’s love life.”

“You ruin me, old man.”

Castiel watched the conversation back and forth from where he had taken a seat, briefly shocked he had never heard Gabriel’s last name in  connection with Chuck’s before then. Outside, people swarmed around the cars as teams made final overviews and the regulations team checked to make sure the cars were eligible to drive under their rules. There was a hive completely separate and yet united to the very conversation he was overhearing, and yet none of that mattered when Castiel’s eyes set upon the red car in the second row.

Dean was outside of it in full uniform, his back to the paddock as he hunched over a monitor an engineer showed him. He was deep in conversation, though he looked up as if he knew Castiel was watching. He offered a small wave.

A muffled voice came on, signaling that drivers get into their cars for the formation lap, but Castiel only waved back. So much had changed, all for the better. Now there was just one last race and a new future that awaited them both, one that spelled an even greater adventure.

The engineer moved to grab Dean’s attention once more as the track began to clear, but in that time, Dean moved to raise his hand up in a thumbs up.

Everything was gonna be okay.

The lights went off faster than Castiel had ever seen them from the Ferrari garage, a place usually reserved for friends and family of the drivers. He had been surprised when Dean brought him over, but the team welcomed him. Castiel wasn’t on duty, after all, and it was more than clear what he meant to their senior driver.

That was how Castiel watched the last race, with baited breath and Dean’s headphones still around his head. Even as a spectator, this race seemed all the more real, all the more alive. This was the last race in an exotic place, at least for this season.

Lucifer and Michael took each other out at the very start, their scrimmage catching up to Adam enough to puncture a tire and cause him to retire only two laps later. It was almost like it was divine intervention, something not lost to Dean when the team told him over the radio a few laps later.

 

DEAN: I don’t believe in fate, but damn sometimes shit happens like that.

 

Castiel couldn’t help but laugh.

Over the shots of Sam and Dean driving through chicanes against each other, Gabriel commentated. “The two Winchesters are going at it with each other, this time just drivers being drivers instead of brothers on the same time. I’m surprised the team is letting them do this, but then again Ferrari has already secured the constructor’s championship for the season. What do you say, Frank?”

“It makes sense. Now it’s just bragging rights for these two, though if Dean got the girl I’m guessing Sam wants the crown.”

“A little birdie told me our Sam Winchester is also a taken man, however? He announced his engagement to one Jessica Moore not a few weeks ago.” Gabriel gave an exaggerated sigh. “Ah, young love. These two boys just got their little pants in a trifle, don’t they?”

“Then my words are flipped. They’re both fighting for the extra kick,” Frank relented. “Honestly, why they let you speak with that mouth of yours is beyond me.”

“You know you love me, Frank.”

“Can it, Shurley. It’s Novak that puts up with you.”

The race neared its end not too long after that, Castiel able to witness just how remarkable the pit stops were from even closer than he had before as a reporter. These teams were cheetahs on two legs, their arms moving faster than an average person could blink. Both Sam and Dean were in and out without losing a single position, Dean ahead of Sam by less than .3 seconds.

It was the final lap when Castiel felt his heart give out at the anticipation.

Gabriel somehow kept up with the commentary. “And both are now neck and neck into the last few corners of beautiful Yas Marina in the heat of the night that has come over this fine race—Dean is still in the lead, though his times are slower than his brother breathing down his neck. They’re both tall men, of course, but Sam doesn’t seem to want to give out just yet—Oh wow! What a turn - an attempt at overtaking but Dean is not letting it happen? No sir-ee, they are fighting for this crown and for this championship—OH THERE GOES WINCHESTER skidding off just in time for Winchester to gain an advantage!”

Both cars turned in to the last leg of the race.

Gabriel sounded like he was going to have a heart attack. “It’s Sam! It’s Dean! No, it’s Sam again! And there goes Dean an—”

Fireworks went off into the night as the crowd roared while the two cars crossed the finish line. It was a Ferrari one-two as both drivers cleared the line in 1st and 2nd place. Castiel ran out onto the pitwall that separated the cars and the pit delta in an attempt to look beyond where the Ferrari team principal had their radios.

“Would you like to tell Sam and Dean the news of who won?” the team principle clad in red asked him, a radio in hand for Castiel to take.

 

SAM: Who was it?

 

DEAN: Shit! Was it enough?

 

Both drivers were clamoring for answers from the team that had the data in numbers. The crowd already knew the answer courtesy of the live feed the numbers would give, but the drivers had no such luxury.

Castiel smiled. He spoke to Sam first, but then he switched the dial to Dean’s radio.

 

TEAM: Hello, Dean.

DEAN: Cas? Cas!

 

Dean sounded as if he was about to cry.

 

TEAM: How are you feeling?

DEAN: Angel, you’re killing me here.

 

Castiel swallowed.

 

TEAM: Dean… It appears your brother beat you for the championship by one-thousandth of a second.

DEAN: So, Sam won?

TEAM: Yes.

DEAN: Oh, that is awesome. My little brother: World Champion.

 

Dean’s radio was muffled. He had started to cry.

 

DEAN: I’m so happy for him, Cas.

TEAM: You’re not sad you lost?

DEAN: Are you kidding? Of course not! Hold on.

 

Castiel only stared at the radio until he noticed the hoard of people jumping the wall to enter the start/finish straight in anticipation for the podium and crowning ceremony of the new world champion. On his side of the paddock, the cars had begun to line up in their respective positions, Sam already out of the car just as Dean pulled up by the number two on the ground.

He ran as quickly as he could past the other crew members and engineers to the barricades that separated the media and crew from the drivers. On the other side, Dean had Sam in a bear hug, both holding their helmets as they cried in each other’s arms. It was an emotional moment for the both of them, an emotional season for all.

But this. This moment. This was timeless.

Dean seemed to be saying something to Sam, enough to cause the other brother to lightly punch his older brother in the arm. It was then that Sam caught sight of Castiel waiting by the barricades, his second punch redirected to nudge Dean to turn around.

To describe Dean’s face, even for a reporter, would have been the most difficult challenge Castiel had ever faced. There was no hint of sadness or loss at the news that his brother had beaten him. If anything, Dean looked happier than Sam did at the news, but that was nothing compared to how his face changed when he saw Castiel watching him from the sidelines.

Whereas Sam went inside to be weighed after thanking his team, Dean walked over slowly. In the entire time that Castiel had known him, this moment felt like the longest in all of his life watching the person he had come to love walk towards him, proud and open. Shy and closed off to the world were no longer traits that could be associated with Dean Winchester.

Strength. Loyalty. Pride. Love. Those were the traits Castiel gave Dean.

And where there is love, there is life.

Dean nodded to his team that surrounded Castiel. Behind him was Kelvin with a camera, but Castiel felt pressure lift from where he had been glued to the barricade by the Ferrari team. The others backed away from where he stood, almost as if they knew. Maybe Dean told them before, or maybe his team knew Dean a lot better than Dean ever gave them credit for.

“Heya, Cas.”

Castiel smiled, his own eyes filling with tears. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean returned the smile. “You enjoy it? The race?”

“Of course I did, but I’m sorry you did not win.”

“Are you kidding?”

Castiel tilted his head. “Why are you not sad?”

Dean moved to take both of his hands to meet Castiel’s waist just over the fence that kept them apart and moved to lift Castiel up. “Because I still won, Angel. I won so much more.”

When you love what you do, you convey that feeling, that attitude, that resolve, that love all around you.

Dean lifted Castiel up slightly over the barricade to fully kiss him. Around them, the sounds of celebration and congratulations faded until only they remained: the true winners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> When you love what you do, you convey that feeling, that attitude, that resolve, that love all around you.- Ayrton Senna 
> 
> TOP 10 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP FINAL RESULT
> 
> Sam W. (321 points) WINNER  
> Dean W. (310 points)  
> Charlie B. (255 points)  
> Kevin T. (198 points)  
> Lucifer M. (186 points)  
> Crowley M. (170 points)  
> Michael S. (110 points)  
> Gadreel P. (92 points)  
> Adam M. (82 points)  
> Benny L. (80 points)


End file.
